RECOLLECTIONS    OF    MY   YOUTH. 


RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY 
YOUTH 


BY 

ERNEST    RENAN 


?' 


J:  - 


TRANSLATED    »Y 

C.    B.    PITMAN 


NEW   YORK 

G.    P.    PUTNAM^S    SONS 

27  AND  29  West  Twenty-Third  St. 

1883 


,^ 


^h 


/?73 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

THE   FLAX-CRUSHER.       PART   I I 

*'    n 14 

*'               "               "hi 22 

"  IV 35 

PRAYER   ON   THE   ACROPOLIS 49 

ST.    RENAN 62 

MY    UNCLE    PIERRE 76 

GOOD   MASTER    SYSTEME.       PART   1 85 

•'      H 91 

LITTLE    NOEMI.       PART    1 97 

"                 "                    '*      H 102 

THE     PETTY      SEMINARY     OF     ST.      NICHOLAS     DU      CHARDONNET. 

PART   I no 

"      " 134 

"          ''I" 145 

V 


VI  *  CONTENTS, 

PAGE 

THE   ISSY    SEMINARY.        PART    I l66 

*'    II 187 

THE   ST.    SULPICE   SEMINARY.       PART   I.  .  ■ 222 

"     11 233 

*'  *'  •*  *'    III ,.  .  .  241 

''IV 255 

'*    V 263 

FIRST    STEPS    OUTSIDE    ST.    SULPICE.       PART    1 277 

"  "        "  "   II 280 

"  "        "  "  III 290 

"       "     "        ''IV 295 

"  V 312 

APPENDIX 323 


PREFACE. 

One  of  the  most  popular  legends  in  Brittany  is 
that  relating  to  an  imaginary  town  called  Is,  which 
is  supposed  to  have  been  swallowed  up  by  the  sea  at 
some  unknown  time.  There  are  several  places  along 
the  coast  which  are  pointed  out  as  the  site  of  this 
imaginary  city,  and  the  fishermen  have  many  strange 
tales  to  tell  of  it.  According  to  them,  the  tips  of 
the  spires  of  the  churches  may  be  seen  in  the  hollow 
^6f  the  waves  when  the  sea  is  rough,  while  during  a 
calm  the  music  of  their  bells,  ringing  out  the  hymn 
appropriate  to  the  day,  rises  above  the  waters. 
I  often  fancy  that  I  have  at  the  bottom  of  my 
heart  a  city  of  Is  with  its  bells  calling  to  prayer  a 
recalcitrant  congregation.  At  times  I  halt  to  listen 
to  these  gentle  vibrations  which  seem  as  if  they 
came  from  immeasurable  depths,  like  voices  from 
another  world.  Since  old  age  began  to  steal  over 
me,  I  have  loved,  more  especially  during  the  repose 
which  summer  brings  with  it,  to  gather  up  these  dis- 
tant echoes  of  a  vanished  Atlantis. 

This  it  is  which -has  given  birth  to  the  six  chap- 


VIU  '  PREFACE, 

ters  which  make  up  the  present  volume.  The 
recollections  of  my  childhood  do  not  pretend  to 
form  a  complete  and  continuous  narrative.  They  are 
merely  the  images  which  arose  before  me  and  the 
reflections  which  suggested  themselves  to  me  while  I 
was  calling  up  a  past  fifty  years  old,  written  down  in 
the  order  in  which  they  came.  Goethe  selected  as 
the  title  for  his  Memoirs  '^  Truth  and  Poetry,"  thereby 
signifying  that  a  man  cannot  write  his  own  biog- 
raphy in  the  same  way  that  he  would  that  of  any 
one  else.  What  one  says  of  oneself  is  always  poet- 
ical. To  fancy  that  the  small  details  of  one*s  own 
life  are  worth  recording  is  to  be  guilty  of  very  petty 
vanity.  A  man  writes  such  things  in  order  to  trans- 
mit to  others  the  theory  of  the  universe  which  he 
carries  w^ithin  himself.  The  form  of  the  present 
work  seemed  to  me  a  convenient  one  for  expressing 
certain  shades  of  thought  which  my  previous  writ- 
ings did  not  convey.  I  had  no  desire  to  furnish 
information  about  myself  for  the  future  use  of  those 
who  might  wish  to  write  essays  or  articles  about 
me. 

What  in  history  is  a  recommendation  would  here 
have  been  a  drawback ;  the  whole  of  this  small  vol- 
ume is  true,  but  not  true  in  the  sense  required  for  a 
^^  Biographical  Dictionary.'*  I  have  said  several 
things  with  the  intent  to  raise  a  smile,  and  if  such  a 


PREFACE.  IX 

thing  had  been  compatible  with  custom  I  might 
have  used  the  expression  cum  grano  salts  as  a  mar- 
ginal note  in  many  cases.  I  have  been  obliged  to 
be  very  careful  in  what  I  wrote.  Many  of  the  per- 
sons to  whom  I  refer  may  be  still  alive  ;  and  those 
who  are  not  accustomed  to  find  themselves  in 
print  have  a  sort  of  horror  of  publicity.  I  have, 
therefore,  altered  several  proper  names.  In  other 
cases,  by  means  of  slight  transposition  of  date  and 
place,  I  have  rendered  identification  impossible.  The 
story  of  "the  Flax-crusher,"  is  absolutely  true,  with 
the  exception  that  the  nanrte  of  the  manor-house  is 
a  fictitious  one.  With  regard  to  "  Good  Master 
Systeme,"  I  have  been  furnished  by  M.  Duportal  du 
Godasmeur  with  further  details  which  do  not  con- 
firm certain  ideas  entertained  by  my  mother  as  to 
the  mystery  in  which  this  aged  recluse  enveloped 
his  existence.  I  have,  however,  made  no  change  in 
the  body  of  the  work,  thinking  that  it  would  be 
better  to  leave  M.  Duportal  to  publish  the  true  story, 
known  only  to  himself,  of  this  enigmatic  charac- 
ter. 

The  chief  defect  for  which  1  should  feel  some 
apology  necessary  if  this  book  had  any  pretension  to 
be  considered  a  regular  memoir  of  my  life,  is  that 
there  are  many  gaps  in  it.  The  person  who  had  the 
greatest  influence  on  my  life,  my  sister  Henriette,  is 


X  PREFACE, 

scarcely  mentioned  in  \\.'^  In  September,  1862,  a 
year  after  the  death  of  this  invaluable  friend,  I  wrote 
for  the  few  persons  who  had  known  her  well,  a  short 
notice  of  her  life.  Only  a  hundred  copies  were 
printed.  My  sister  was  so  unassuming,  and  she  was 
so  averse  from  the  stress  and  stir  of  the  world  that  I 
should  have  fancied  I  could  hear  her  reproaching  me 
from  her  grave,  if  I  had  made  this  sketch  public 
property.  I  have  more  than  once  been  tempted  to 
include  it  in  this  volume,  but  on  second  thoughts  I 
have  felt  that  to  do  so  would  be  an  act  of  profa- 
nation.  The  pamphlet  in  question  was  read  and 
appreciated  hy  a  few  persons  who  were  kindly 
disposed  toward  her  and  toward  myself.  It  would 
be  wrong  of  me  to  expose  a  memory  so  sacred  in  my 
eyes  to  the  supercilious  criticisms  which  are  part 
and  parcel  of  the  right  acquired  by  the  purchaser  of 

*  Upon  the  very  day  this  volume  was  going  to  press,  news  reached 
me  of  the  death  of  my  brother,  snapping  the  last  thread  of  the  recol- 
lections of  my  childhood's  home.  My  brother  Alain  was  a  warm  and 
true  friend  to  me  ;  he  never  failed  to  understand  me,  to  approve  my 
course  of  action  and  to  love  me.  His  clear  and  sound  intellect  and 
his  great  capacity  for  work  adapted  him  for  a  profession  in  which 
mathematical  knowledge  is  of  value  or  for  magisterial  functions.  The 
misfortunes  of  our  family  caused  him  to  follow  a  different  career,  and 
he  underwent  many  hardships  with  unshaken  courage.  He  never 
complained  of  his  lot,  though  life  had  scant  enjoyment  save  that 
which  is  derived  from  love  of  home.  These  joys  are,  however,  un- 
questionably the  most  unalloyed. 


PREFACE.  XI 

a  book.  It  seemed  to  me  that  in  placing  the  lines 
referring  to  her  in  a  book  for  the  trade  I  should  be 
acting  with  as  much  impropriety  as  if  I  sent  a 
portrait  of  her  for  sale  to  an  auction  room.  The 
pamphlet  in  question  will  not,  therefore,  be  reprinted 
until  after  my  death,  appended  to  it,  very  possibly 
being  several  of  her  letters  selected  by  me  before- 
hand. 

The  natural  sequence  of  this  book,  which  is  neither 
more  nor  less  than  the  sequence  in  the  various  peri- 
ods of  my  life,  brings  about  a  sort  of  contrast  be- 
tween the  anecdotes  of  Brittany  and  those  of  the 
Seminary,  the  latter  being  the  details  of  a  darksome 
struggle,  full  of  reasonings  and  hard  scholasticism, 
while  the  recollections  of  my  earlier  years  are  in- 
stinct with  the  impressions  of  child-like  sensitiveness, 
of  candor,  of  innocence,  and  of  affection.  There  is 
nothing  surprising  about  this  contrast.  -Nearly  all 
of  us  are  double.  The  more  a  man  develops_iritel- 
lectually,  the__stronger  is  his  attraction  to  the  op- 
posite ^pole  :  that  is  to  say,  to  the  Jrrational.  to  the 
repose  of  mind  in  absolute  ignorance,  to  the  woman 
who  is  merely  a  woman,  the  instinctive  being  who 
acts  solely  from  the  impulse  of  an  obscure  conscience. 
The  fierce  school  of  controversy,  in  which  the  mind 
of  Europe  has  been  involved  since  the  time  of  Abe- 
lard,  induces  periods  of  mental  drought  and  aridity. 


Xll  PREFACE. 

The  brain,  parched  by  reasoning,  thirsts  for  simplic- 
ity, hke  the  desert  for  spring  water.  When  reflection 
has  brought  us  up  to  the  last  limit  of  doubt,  the 
spontaneous  affirmation  of  the  good  and  of  the  beau- 
tiful which  is  to  be  found  in  the  female  conscience 
delights  us  and  settles  the  question  for  us.  This  is 
why  religion^J^  preserved  to  the  world  by  woman 
al^ne,  A  beautiful  and  a  virtuous  woman  is  the 
mirage  which  peoples  with  lakes  and  green  avenues 
our  great  moral  desert.  The  superiority  of  modern 
science  consists  in  the  fact  that  each  step  forward  it 
takes  is  a  step  further  in  the  order  of  abstractions. 
We  make  chemistry  from  chemistry,  algebra  from 
algebra  ;  the  very  indefatigability  with  which  we 
fathom  nature  removes  us  further  from  her.  This  is 
as  it  should  be,  ,and  let  no  one  fear  to  prosecute  his 
researches,  for  out  of  this  merciless  dissection  comes 
life.  But  v/e  need  not  be  surprised  at  the  feverish 
heat  which,  after  these  orgies  of  dialectics,  can  only 
be  calmed  by  the  kisses  of  the  artless  creature  in 
whom  nature  lives  and  smiles.  Woman  restores  us 
to  communication  with  the  eternal  spring  in  which 
God  reflects  Himself.  The  candor  of  a  child  uncon- 
scious of  its  own  beauty  and  seeing  God  clear  as  the 
daylight,  is  the  great  revelation  of  the  ideal,  just  as 
the  unconscious  coquetry  of  the  flower  is  a  proof 
that  Nature  adorns  herself  for  a  husband. 


PREFACE,  Xlll 


/ 


One  should  never  write  except  upon  that  which 
one  loves.  Oblivion  and  silence  are  the  proper  pun- 
ishments to  be  inflicted  upon  all  that  we  meet  with 
in  the  way  of  what  is  ungainly  or  vulgar  in  the  course 
of  our  journey  through  life.  Referring  to  a  past 
which  is  dear  to  me,  I  have  spoken  of  it  with  kindly 
sympathy ;  but  I  should  be  sorry  to  create  any  mis- 
apprehension, and  to  be  taken  for  an  uncompromis- 
ing reactionist. ,  tj  love  the  past,  but  I  envy  the  fut- 
ure. It  would  have  been  very  pleasant  to  have 
lived  upon  this  planet  at  as  late  a  period  as  possible. 
Descartes  would  be  delighted  if  he  could  read  some 
trivial  work  on  natural  philosophy  and  cosmography 
written  in  the  present  day.  The  fourth-form  school- 
boy of  our  age  is  acquainted  with  truths  to  know 
which  Archimedes  would  have  laid  down  his  life. 
What  would  we  not  give  to  be  able  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  some  book  which  will  be  used  as  a  school  primer 
a  hundred  years  hence  ? 

/  ^We  must  not,  because  of  our  personal  tastes,  our 
prejudices  perhaps,  set  ourselves  to  oppose  the  ac- 
tion of  our  time.  This  action  goes  on  without  re- 
gard to  us,  and  probably  it  is  right.  ,The  world  is 
moving  in  the  direction  of  what  I  may  call  a  kind  of 
Americanism,  which  shoc*ks  our  refined  ideas,  but 
which,  when  once  the  crisis  of  the  present  hour  is 
over,  may  very  possibly  not  be  more  inimical  than 


XIV  PREFACE. 

I  the  ancient  regime  to  the  only  thing  which  is  of  any 
^  real  importance  ;  viz.,  the  emancipation  and  progress 
of  the  human  mind.  A  society  in  which  personal 
distinction  is  of  little  account,  in  which  talent  and 
wit  are  not  marketable  commodities,  in  which  ex- 
alted functions  do  not  ennoble,  in  which  politics  are 
left  to  men  devoid  of  standing  or  ability,  in  which 
the  recompenses  of  life  are  accorded  by  preference 
io  intrigue,  to  vulgarity,  to  the  charlatans  who  culti- 
vate the  art  of  puffing,  and  to  the  smart  people  who 
just  keep  without  the  clutches  of  the  law,  would 
never  suit  us.  We  have  been  accustomed  to  a  more 
protective  system,  and  to  the  government  patroniz- 
ing what  is  noble  and  Avorthy.  But  we  have  not  se- 
cured this  patronage  for  nothing.  ^Richelieu  and 
Louis  XIV.  looked  upon  it  as  their  duty  to  provide 
pensions  for  men  of  merit  all  the  world  over.  How 
much  better  it  would  have  been,  if  the  spirit  of  the 
time  had  admitted  of  it,  that  they  should  have  left 
the  men  of  merit  to  themselves  !  The  period  of  the 
Restoration  has  the  credit  of  being  a  liberal  one  ; 
yet  we  should  certainly  not  like  to  live  now  under  a 
regime  which  warped  such  a  genius  as  Cuvier,  stifled 
with  paltry  compromises  the  keen  mind  of  M.  Cousin, 
and  retarded  the  growth  of  criticism  by  half  a  cent- 
ury. The  concessions  which  had  to  be  made  to  the 
\   \  court,  to  society,  and   to  the  clergy,  were  far  worse 


PREFACE,  XV 

than  the  petty  annoyances  which   a  democracy  can] 
inflict  upon  us. 

The  eighteen  years  of  the  monarchy  of  July,  were 
in  reahty  a  period  of  hberty,  but  the  official  direc- 
ticfn  given  to  things  of  the  mind  was  often  super- 
ficial, and  no  better  than  would  be  expected  of  the 
average  shopkeeper.  With  regard  to  the  second 
empire,  if  the  ten  last  years  of  its  duration  in  some 
measure  repaired  the  mischief  done  in  the  first  eight, 
it  must  never  be  forgotten  how  strong  this  govern- 
ment was  when  it  was  a  question  of  crushing  the 
intelligence,  and  how  feeble  when  it  came  to  raising 
it  up.  The  present  hour  is  a  gloomy  one,  and  the 
immediate  outlook  is  not  cheerful.  Our  unfortunate 
country  is  ever  threatened  with  heart  disease,  and 
all  Europe  is  a  prey  to  some  deep-rooted  malady. 
I^But  by  way  of  consolation,  let  us  reflect  upon  what 
we  have  suffered.  The  evil  to  come  must  be  grievous 
indeed,  if  we  cannot  say  : 

O  passi  graviora,  dabit  deus  his  quoqiie  finem. 

j   The__one  objectinlife   is  the  development  of  the 

1    mind,  and  the  first  condition  for  the  developmentjpf 

1  the  mind  is  that  it  ^hnnlH  hav<^  h'brrty      The  v/orst 

social  state  from  this  point  of  view,  is  the  theocratic 

state,  like   Islamism  or  the  ancient  Pontifical  state, 

in  which  dogma  reigns  supreme.     Nations  with  an 


XVI  PREFACE. 

exclusive  State  religion  like  Spain,  are  not  much 
better  off.  Nations  in  which  a  religion  of  the 
majority  is  recognized  are  also  exposed  to  serious 
drawbacks.  In  behalf  of  the  real  or  assumed  be- 
liefs of  the  greatest  number,  the  State  considers 
itself  bound  to  impose  upon  thought  terms  which  it 
cannot  accept.  The  belief  or  the  opinion  of  the 
one  side  should  not  be  a  fetter  upon  the  other  side. 
As  long  as  the  masses  were  believers,  that  is  to  say, 
as  long  as  the  same  sentiments  were  almost  univer- 
sally professed  by  a  people,  freedom  of  research  and 
discussion  was  impossible.  (  A  colossal  weight  of 
stupidity  pressed  down  upon  the  human  mind.  The 
terrible  catastrophe  of  the  middle  ages,  that  break 
of  a  thousand  years  in  the  history  of  civilization,  is 
due  less  to  the  barbarians  than  to  the  triumph  of  the 
dogmatic  spirit  among  the  masses. 

This  is  a  state  of  things  which  is  coming  to  an 
end  in  our  time,  and  we  cannot  be  surprised  if  some 
disturbance  ensues.  There  are  no  longer  masses 
-wiiich  believe  ;  a  great  number  of  the  people  decline 
to  recognize  the  supernatural,  and  the  day  is  not  far 
distant,  when  beliefs  of  this  kind  will  die  out  alto- 
gether in  the  masses,  just  as  the  belief  in  familiar 
spirits  and  ghosts  has  disappeared.  Even  if,  as  is 
probable,  we  are  to  have  a  temporary  Catholic  reac- 
tion,  the   people   v/ill   not    revert   to    the   Church. 


PREFACE,  XVU 

Religion  has  become  for  once  and  all  a  matter  of 
personal  taste.  Now  beliefs  are  only  dangerous 
when  they  represent  something  like  unanimity,  or  an 
unquestionable  majority.  When  they  are  merely 
individual,  there  is  not  a  word  to  be  said  against 
them,  and  it  is  ourduty  to  treat  them  with  the  respect 
which  they  do  not  always  exhibit  for  their  adversaries, 
when  they  feel  that  they  have  force  at  their  back. 

There  can  be  no  denying^that  it  will  take  time  for 
the  liberty,  which  is  the  aim  and  object  of  human 
society,  to  take  root  in  France  as  it  has  in  America; 
French  democracy  has  several  essential  principles  to 
acquire,  before  it  can  become  a  liberal  regime.  It 
will  be  above  all  things  necessary  that  we  should 
have  laws  as  to  associations,  charitable  foundations, 
and  the  right  of  legacy,  analogous  to  those  which 
are  in  force  in  England  and  America.  Supposing 
this  progress  to  be  effected  (if  it  is  utopiaii-to  count 
upon  it  in  France,  it  is  not  so  for  the  rest  of  Europe, 
in  which  the  aspirations  for  English  liberty  become 
every  day  more  intense),  we  should  really  not  hav^- 
much  cause  to  look  regretfully  upon  the  favors  con- 
ferred by  the  ancient  regime  upon  things  of  the 
mind.  I  quite  think  that  if  democratic  ideas  were 
to  secure  a  definitive  triumph,  science  and  scientific 
teaching  would  soon  find  the  modest  subsidies  now 
accorded  them,  cut  off.     This  is  an  eventuality  which 


XVI 11  PREFACE, 

would  have  to  be  accepted  as  philosophically  as  may 
be.  The  free  foundations  would  take  the  place  of 
the  State  institutes,  the  slight  drawbacks  being  more 
than  compensated  for  by  the  advantage  of  having  no 
longer  to  make  to  the  supposed  prejudices  of  the 
majority  concessions  which  the  State  exacted  in  re- 
turn for  its  pittance.  The  waste  of  power  in  State 
institutes  is  enormous.  It  may  safely  be  said  that 
not  fifty  per  cent  of  a  credit  voted  in  favor  of 
science,  art,  or  literature,  is  expended  to  any  effect. 
Private  foundations  would  not  be  exposed  to  nearly 
so  .much  waste.  It  is  true  that  spurious  science 
would,  in  these  conditions,  flourish  side  by  side  with 
real  science,  enjoying  the  same  privileges,  and  that 
there  would  be  no  official  criterion,  as  there  still  is  to 
a  certain  extent  now,  to  distinguish  the  one  from  the 
other.  But  this  criterion  becomes  every  day  less 
rehable.  Reason  has  to  submit  to  the  indignity  of 
taking  second  place  behind  those  who  have  a  loud 
yoice,_and  who_speak  with  a  tone  of  comrnand._The 
plaudits  and  favor  of  the  public  will,  for  a  long  time 
To  come,  be  at  the  service  of  what  is  false.  But  the 
true  has  great  power,  when  it  is  free ;  the  true  en- 
dures ;  the  false  is  ever  changing  and  decays.  Thus 
it  is  that  the  true,  though  only  understood  by  a 
select  few,  always  rises  to  the  surface,  and  in  the 
end  prevails. 


PREFACE.  XIX 

In  short,  it  is  very  possible  that  the  American-Hke 
social  condition  toward  which  we  are  advancing,  in- 
dependently of  any  particular  form  of  government, 
will  not  be  more  intolerable  for  persons  of  intelli- 
gence than  the  better  guaranteed  social  conditions 
which  we  have  already  been  subject  to.  In  such  a 
world  as  this  w^ill  be,  it  will  be  no  difficult  matter 
to  create  very  quiet  and  snug  retreats  for  oneself. 
"The  era  of  mediocrity  in  all  things  is  about  to 
begin,'' remarked  a  short  time  ago  that  distinguished 
thinker,  M.  Arniel  of  Geneva.  "  Equality  begets 
uniformity,  and  it  is  by  the  sacrifice  of  the  excellent, 
the  remarkable,  the  extraordinary,  that  we  extirpate 
what  is  bad.  The  whole  becomes  less  coarse ;  but 
the  whole  becomes  more  vulgar."  We  may  at  least 
hope  that  vulgarity  will  not  yet  awhile  persecute 
freedom  of  mind.  Descartes,  living  in  the  brilliant 
seventeenth  century,  was  nowhere  so  well  off  as  at 
Amsterdam,  because,  as  "  every  one  was  engaged  in 
trade  there,"  no  one  paid  any  heed  to  him.  It  may 
be  that  general  vulgaritvwillone_day  be  the  con- 
.diliiin  of  happiness,  for  the  worst  American  vulgarity 


would  not  send  Giordano  Bruno  to  the  stake  or  per- 
secute Galileo.  We  have  no  right  to  be  very  fastid- 
ious. In  the  past  we  were  never  more  than  tolerated. 
This  tolerance,  if  nothing  more,  we  are  assured  of  in 
the  future.     A  narrow-minded,  democratic  regime  is 


XX  PREFACE, 

often,  as  we  know,  very  troublesome.  But  for  all 
that,  men  of  intelligence  find  that  they  can  live  in 
America,  as  long  as  they  are  not  too  exacting.  Noli 
me  tangere  is  the  most  one  can  ask  for  from  democ- 
racy. We  shall  pass  through  several  alternatives 
of  anarchy  and  despotism  before  we  find  repose  in 
this  happy  medium.  But  liberty  is  like  truth ; 
scarcely  any  one  loves  it  on  its  own  account,  and 
yet,  owing  to  the  impossibility  of  extremes,  one  al- 
ways comes  back  to  it. 

We  may  as  well,  therefore,  allow  the  destinies  of 
this  planet  to  work  themselves  out  without  undue 
concern.  We  should  gain  nothing  by  exclaiming 
against  them,  and  a  display  of  temper  would  be  very 
out  of  place.  It_is  bx_ng  means  certajnuthat^the 
earth  is  not  falling  shortj^lits-j^stiny,  as  has  prob- 
ably  happened  to  countless  worlds ;  it  is  even  pos- 

sTBTeThat    our  age  may   one  H^y   he^    rpg;irrlpH  nq  \\\(- 

culminating  point  since  which  humanity  has  been 
steadily  deteriorating;  but  the  universe  does  not 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word  discouragement  ;  it 
v/ill  commence  anew  the  work  which  has  come  to 
naught ;  each  fresh  check  leaves  it  young,  alert,  and 
full  of  illusions.  Be  of  good  cheer,  Nature  !  Pursue, 
like  the  deaf  and  blind  star-fish  which  vegetates  in 
the  bed  of  the  ocean,  thy  obscure  task  of  life ;  per- 
severe ;  mend   for   the    millionth   time   the   broken 


PREFACE.  •  XXI 

meshes  of  the  net ;  repair  the  boring-machine  which 
sinks  to  the  last  Hmits  of  the  attainable  the  well 
from  which  living  water  will  spring  up.  Sight  and 
sight  again  the  aim  which  thou  hast  failed  to  hit 
throughout  the  ages  ;  try  to  struggle  through  the 
scarcely  perceptible  opening  which  leads  to' another 
firmament.  Thou  hast  the  infinity  of  time  and 
space  to  try  the  experiment.  He  who  can  com- 
mit blunders  with  impunity  is  always  certain  to  suc- 
ceed. 

Happy  they  who  shall  have  had  a  part  in  this 
great  final  triumph  v/hich  will  be  the  complete  ad- 
vent of  God  !  A  Paradise  lost  is  always,  for  him  who 
wills  it  so,  a  Paradise  regained.  Often  as  Adam 
must  have  mourned  the  loss  of  Eden,  I  fancy  that 
if  he  lived,  as  we  are  told,  930  years  after  his  fall,  he 
must  often  have  exclaimed :  Felix  culpa  !  Truth  is, 
whatever  may  be  said  to  the  contrary,  superior  to 
all  fictions.  One  ought  never  to  regret  seeing  clearer 
into  the  depths.  By  endeavoring  to  increase  the 
treasure  of  the  truths  which  form  the  paid-up  capital 
of  humanity,  we  shall  be  carrying  on  the  work  of 
our  pious  ancestors,  who  loved  the  good  and  the 
true  as  it  was  understood  in  their  time.  The  most 
fatal  error  is  to  believe  that  one  serves  one's  country 
by  calumniating  those  who  founded  it.  All  ages  of 
a  nation  are  leaves  of  the  self-same  book.     The  true 


r 


XXU  PREFACE, 

men  of  progress  are  those  who  profess  as  their  start- 
ing-point a  profound  respect  for  the  past.  All  that 
we  do,  all  that  we  are,  is  the  outcome  of  ages  of 
labor.  For  my  own  part,  I  never  feel  my  liberal 
faith  more  firmly  rooted  in  me  than  when  I  ponder 
over  the  miracles  of  the  ancient  creed,  nor  more 
ardent  for  the  work  of  the  future  than  when  I  have 
been  listening  for  hours  to  the  bells  of  the  city  of  Is. 


THE    FLAX-CRUSHER. 


RECOLLECTIONS   OF    MY   YOUTH. 


THE    FLAX-CRUSHER, 

PART  I. 

Treguier,  my  native  place,  has  grown  into  a  town 
out  of  an  ancient  monastery  founded  at  the  close  of 
the  fifth  century  by  St.  Tudwal  (or  Tual),  one  of 
the.  religious  leaders  of  those  great  migratory  move- 
ments which  introduced  into  the  Armorican  peninsula 
the  name,  the  race,  and  the  religious  institutions  of 
the  island  of  Britain.  The  predominating  character- 
istic of  early  British  Christianity  was  its  monastic 
tendency,  and  there  were  no  bishops,  at  all  events 
among  the  immigrants,  whose  first  step,  after  landing 
in  Brittany,  the  north  coast  of  which  must  at  that 
time  have  been  very  sparsely  inhabited,  was  to  build 
large  monasteries,  the  abbots  of  which  had  the  cure 
of  souls.  A  circle  of  from  three  to  five  miles  in 
circumference,  called  the  minihi,  was  drawn  around 
each  monastery,  and  the  territory  within  it  was  in- 
vested with  special  privileges. 

I  I 


2        ;,    \  :  J^j^COLLKCr/OiVS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

The  monasteries  were  called  in  the  Ereton  dialect 
pabu  after  the  monks  {^papce)^  and  in  this  way  the 
monastery  of  Treguier  was  known  as  Pabii  TiiaL 

It  was  the  religious  centre  of  all  that  part  of  the 
peninsula  which  stretches  northward.  Monasteries 
of  a  similar  kind  at  St.  Pol  de  Leon,  St.  Brieuc,  St. 
Malo,  and  St.  Samson,  near  Dol,  held  a  like  position 
upon  the  coast.  They  possessed,  if  one  may  so 
speak,  their  diocese,  for  in  these  regions  separated 
from  the  rest  of  the  Christianity  nothing  was  known 
of  the  power  of  Rome  and  of  the  religious  institu- 
tions which  prevailed  in  the  Latin  world,  or  even 
in  the  Gallo-Roman  towns  of  Rennes  and  Nantes 
hard  by. 

When  Nomenoe,  in  the  ninth  century,  reduced  to 
something  like  a  regular  organization  this  half  sav^e 
society  of  emigrants  and  created  the  Duchy  of 
Brittany  by  annexing  to  the  territory  in  which  the 
Breton  tongue  was  spoken,  the  Marches  of  Brittany, 
established  by  the  Carlovingians  to  hold  in  respect 
the  forayers  of  the  west,  he  found  it  advisable  to 
assimilate  its  religious  organization  to  that  of  the 
rest  of  the  world.  He  determined,  therefore,  that 
there  should  be  bishops  on  the  northern  coast,  as 
there  were  at  Rennes,  Nantes,  and  Vannes,  and  he 
accordingly  converted  into  bishoprics  the  monasteries 
of  St.  Pol  de  Leon,  Treguier,  St.  "Brieuc,  St.  Malo,  and 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  3 

Dol.  He  would  have  liked  to  have  had  an  archbishop 
as  well,  and  so  form  a  separate  ecclesiastical  province, 
but,  despite  the  well-intentioned  devices  employed 
to  prove  that  St.  Samson  had  been  a  metropolitan 
prelate,  the  grades  of  the  Church  universal  were 
already  apportioned,  and  the  new  bishoprics  were 
perforce  compelled  to  attach  themselves  to  the 
nearest  Gallo-Roman  province  at  Tours. 
.  The  meaning  of  these  obscure  beginnings  gradu- 
ally faded  away,  and  from  the  name  of  Pabtt  Trial, 
Papa  Trial,  found,  as  was  reported,  upon  some  old 
stained-glass  windows,  it  was  inferred  that  St.  Tudwal 
had  been  Pope.  The  explanation  seemed  a  very 
simple  one,  for  St.  Tudwal,  it  was  well  knov/n,  had 
been  to  Rome,  and  he  was  so  holy  a  man  that  what 
could  be  more  natural  than  that  the  cardinals,  v/hen 
they  became  acquainted  with  him,  should  have 
selected  him  for  the  vacant  Sec.  Such  things  were 
always  happening,  and  the  godly  persons  of  Treguier 
were  very  proud  of  the  pontifical  reign  of  their 
patron  saint.  The  more  reasonable  ecclesiastics, 
however,  admitted  that  it  was  no  easy  matter  to 
discover  among  the  list  of  popes  the  pontiff  who 
previous  to  his  election  was  known  as  Tudwal. 

In  course  of  time  a  small  town  grew  up  around 
the  bishop*s  palace,  but  the  lay  town,  dependent 
entirely  upon  the  Church,  increased  very  slowly.  The 


4  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

port  failed  to  acquire  any  importance,  and  no  wealthy 
trading  class  came  into  existence.  A  very  fine  cathe- 
dral was  built  toward  the  close  of  the  thirteenth 
century,  and  from  the  beginning  of  the  seventeenth 
the  monasteries  became  so  numerous  that  they  formed 
whole  streets  to  themselves.  The  bishop's  palace,  a 
handsome  building  of  the  seventeenth  century,  and 
a  few  canons'  residences  were  the  only  houses  in- 
habited by  people  of  civilized  habits.  In  the  lower 
part  of  the  town,  at  the  end  of  the  High  Street, 
which  was  flanked  by  several  turreted  buildings, 
were  a  few  inns  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
sailors. 

It  was  only  just  before  the  Revolution  that  a  petty 
nobility,  recruited  for  the  most  part  from  the  country 
around,  sprang  up  under  the  shadow  of  the  bishop's 
palace.  Brittany  contained  two  distinct  orders  of 
nobility.  The  first  derived  its  titles  from  the  King  of 
France,  and  displayed  in  a  very  marked  degree  the 
defects  and  the  qualities  which  characterized  the 
French  nobility.  The  other  was  of  Celtic  origin  and 
thoroughly  Breton.  This  latter  nobility  comprised, 
from  the  period  of  the  invasion,  the  chief  men  of  the 
parish,  the  leaders  of  the  people,  of  the  same  race  as 
them,  possessing  by  inheritance  the  right  of  marching 
at  their  head  and  representing  them.  No  one  was 
more  deserving  of  respect  than  this  country  nobleman 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  S 

when  he  remained  a  peasant,  innocent  of  all  intrigues 
or  of  any  effort  to  grow  rich  ;  but  when  he  came  to 
reside  in  town  he  lost  nearly  all  his  good  qualities  and 
contributed  but  little  to  the  moral  and  intellectual 
progress  of  the  country. 

The  Revolution  seemed  for  this  agglomeration  of 
priests  and  monks  neither  more  nor  less  than  a  death 
warrant.  The  last  of  the  bishops  of  Treguier  left  one 
evening  by  a  back  door  leading  into  the  wood  behind 
his  palace  and  fled  to  England.  The  concordat 
abolished  the  bishopric,  and  the  unfortunate  town 
was  not  even  given  a  sub-prefect ;  Lannion  and  Guin- 
gamp,  which  are  larger  and  busier,  being  selected  in 
preference.  But  large  buildings,  fitted  up  so  as  to 
fulfill  only  one  object,  nearly  always  lead  to  the  re- 
constitution  of  the  object  to  which  they  were  des- 
tined. We  may  say  morally  what  is  not  true  physic- 
ally :  when  the  hollows  of  a  shell  are  very  deep,  these 
hollows  have  the  power  of  re-forming  the  animal 
moulded  in  them.  The  vast  monastic  edifices  of 
Treguier  were  once  more  peopled,  and  the  former 
seminary  served  for  the  establishment  of  an  ecclesi- 
astical college,  very  highly  esteemed  throughout  the 
province.  Treguier  again  became  in  a  few  years' 
time  what  St.  Tudwal  had  made  it  thirteen  centuries 
before,  a  town  of  priests,  cut  off  from  all  trade  and 
industry,  a  vast  monastery    within  whose  walls  no 


6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

sounds  from  the  outer  world  ever  penetrated,  where 
ordinary  human  pursuits  were  looked  upon  as  vanity 
and  vexation  of  spirit,  while  those  things  wl]ich  lay- 
men treated  as  chimerical  were  regarded  as  the  only 
realities. 

It  was  amid  associations  like  these  that  I  passed 
my  childhood,  and  it  gave  a  bent  to  my  character 
which  has  never  been  removed.  The  cathedral,  a 
masterpiece  of  airy  lightness,  a  hopeless  effort  to 
realize  in  granite  an  impossible  ideal,  first  of  all  warped 
my  judgment.  The  long  hours  which  I  spent  there 
are  responsible  for  my  utter  lack  of  practical  knowl- 
edge. That  architectural  paradox  made  me  a  man 
of  chimeras,  a  disciple  of  St.  Tudwal,  St.  Iltud,  and 
St.  Cadoc,  in  an  age  when  their  teaching  is  no  longer 
of  any  practical  use.  When  I  went  to  the  more 
secular  town  of  Guingamp,  where  I  had  some  rela- 
tives of  the  middle  class,  I  felt  very  ill  at  ease,  and 
the  only  pleasant  companion  I  had  there  was  an  aged 
servant  to  whom  I  used  to  read  fairy  tales.  I  longed 
to  be  back  in  the  sombre  old  place,  overshadowed  by 
its  cathedral,  but  a  living  protest,  so  to  speak,  against 
all  that  is  mean  and  commonplace.  I  felt  myself 
again  when  I  got  back  to  the  lofty  steeple,  the  pointed 
nave,  and  the  cloisters  with  their  fifteenth  century 
tombs,  being  always  at  my  ease  when  in  the  company 
of  the  dead,  by  the  side  of  the  cavaliers  and  proud 


THE   FLAX-CRUSHER.  7 

dames,  sleeping  peacefully  with  their  hound  at  their 
feet,  and  a  massive  stone  torch  in  their  grasp.  The 
outskirts  of  the  town  had  the  same  religious  and 
idealistic  aspect,  and  were  enveloped  in  an  atmos- 
phereof  mythology  as  dense  as  Benares  or  J  agatnata. 
The  church  of  St.  Michael,  from  which  the  open  sea 
could  be  discerned,  had  been  destroyed  by  lightning 
and  was  the  scene  of  many  prodigies.  Upon  Maun- 
day  Thursday  the  children  of  Treguier  were  taken 
there  to  see  the  bells  go  off  to  Rome.  We  went  blind- 
folded, and  much  we  then  enjoyed  seeing  all  the  bells 
in  the  peal,  beginning  with  the  largest  and  ending 
with  the  smallest,  arrayed  in  the  embroidered  lace 
robes  which  they  had  been  dressed  in  upon  their 
baptismal  day,  cleaving  the  air  on  their  way  to  Rome 
for  the  Pope's  benediction. 

Upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  river  there  was  the 
beautiful  valley  of  theTromeur,  watered  by  a  sacred 
fountain  which  Christianity  had  hallowed  by  connect- 
ing it  with  the  worship  of  the  virgin.  The  chapel 
was  burnt  down  in  1828,  but  it  was  at  once  rebuilt, 
and  the  statue  of  the  virgin  was  replaced  by  a  much 
more  handsome  one.  That  fidelity  to  the  traditions 
of  the  past  which  is  the  chief  trait  in  the  Breton 
character  was  very  strikingly  illustrated  in  this  con- 
nection, for  the  new  statue,  which  was  radiant  with 
white  and  gold  over  the  high  altar,  received  but  few 


8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

devotions,  the  prayers  of  the  faithful  being  said  to 
the  black  and  calcined  trunk  of  the  old  statue  which 
was  relegated  to  a  corner  of  the  chapel.  The  Bretons 
would  have  thought  that  to  pay  their  devotions  to 
the  new  virgin  was  tantamount  to  turning  their  backs 
upon  her  predecessor. 

St.  Yves  was  the  object  of  even  deeper  popular 
devotion,  the  patron  saint  of  the  lawyers  having  been 
born  in  the  niinihi  of  Treguier,  where  the  church 
dedicated  to  him  is  held  in  great  veneration.  This 
champion  of  the  poor,  the  widows  and  the  orphans, 
is  looked  upon  as  the  grand  justiciary  and  avenger  of 
wrong.  Those  who  have  been  badly  used  have  only 
to  repair  to  the  solemn  little  chapel  of  Saint  Yves  de 
la  Ve'rite'j  and  to  repeat  the  words:  ^^Thou  wert  just 
in  thy  lifetime,  prove  that  thou  art  so  still,"  to  ensure 
that  their  oppressor  will  die  within  a  year.  He  be- 
comes the  protector  of  all  those  who  are  left  friend- 
less, and  at  my  father's  death  my  mother  took  me  to 
his  chapel  and  placed  me  under  his  tutelary  care.  I 
cannot  say  that  the  good  St.  Yves  managed  our 
affairs  very  successfully,  or  gave  me  a  very  clear 
understanding  of  my  worldly  interests,  but  I  never- 
theless have  much  to  thank  him  for,  as  he  en- 
dowed me  with  a  spirit  of  content  which  passeth 
riches,  and  a  native  good  humor  which  has  never 
left  me. 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  g 

The  month  of  May,  during  which  the  festival  of 
St.  Yves  fell,  was  one  long  round  of  processions  to 
the  minihi^  and  as  the  different  parishes,  preceded  by 
their  processional  crucifixes,  met  in  the  roads,  the 
crucifixes  were  pressed  one  against  the  other  in  token 
of  friendship.  Upon  the  eve  of  the  festival  the 
people  assembled  in  the  church,  and  on  the  stroke  of 
midnight  the  saint  stretched  out  his  arms  to  bless 
the  kneeling  congregation.  But  if  among  them  all 
there  was  one  doubting  soul  who  raised  his  eyes  to 
see  if  the  miracle  really  did  take  place,  the  saint, 
taking  just  offence  at  such  a  suspicion,  did  not  move, 
and  by  the  misconduct  of  this  incredulous  person 
no  benediction  was  given. 

The  clergy  of  the  place,  disinterested  and  honest 
to  the  core,  contrived  to  steer  a  middle  course  be- 
tween not  doing  anything  to  weaken  these  ideas  and 
not  compromising  themselves.  These  worthy  men 
were  my  first  spiritual  guides,  and  I  have  them  to 
thank  for  whatever  may  be  good  in  me.  Their  every 
word  was  my  law,  and  I  had  so  much  respect  for 
them  that  I  never  thought  to  doubt  anything  they 
told  me  until  I  was  sixteen  years  of  age,  when  I 
came  to  Paris.  Since  that  time  I  have  studied  under 
many  teachers  far  more  brilliant  and  learned,  but 
none  have  inspired  such  feelings  of  veneration,  and 
this  has  often  led  to  differences  of  opinion  between 


lO  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

some  of  my  friends  and  myself.  It  has  been  my 
good  fortune  to  know  what  absolute  virtue  is.  I 
know  what  faith  is,  and  though  I  have  since  discov- 
ered how  deep  a  fund  of  irony  there  is  m  the  most 
sacred  of  our  illusions,  yet  the  experience  derived 
from  the  days  of  old  is  very  precious  to  me.  I  feel 
that  in  reality  my  existence  is  still  governed  by  a 
faith  which  I  no  longer  possess,  for  one  of  the  pecu- 
liarities of  faith  is  that  its  action  does  not  cease  with 
its  disappearance.  Grace  survives  by  mere  force  of 
habit  the  living  sensation  of  it  which  we  have  felt. 
In  a  mechanical  kind  of  way  we  go  on  doing  what 
we  had  before  been  doing  in  spirit  and  in  truth. 
After  Orpheus,  when  he  had  lost  his  ideal,  was  torn 
to  pieces  by  the  Thracian  women,  his  lyre  still  re- 
peated Eurydice's  name. 

The  point  to  which  the  priests  attached  the  high- 
est importance  was  moral  conduct,  and  their  own 
spotless  lives  entitled  them  to  be  severe  in  this  re- 
spect, while  their  sermons  made  such  an  impression 
upon  me  that  during  the  whole  of  my  youth  I  never 
once  forgot  their  injunctions.  These  sermons  were 
so  awe-inspiring,  and  many  of  the  remarks  which  they 
contained  are  so  engraved  upon  my  memory,  that  I 
c:innot  even  now  recall  them  without  a  sort  of 
tremor.  For  instance,  the  preacher  once  referred  to 
the  case  of  Jonathan,  who  died  for  having  eaten  a 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  II 

little  honey.  *^  Gustans  gustavi  pauluhim  mellis,  et 
ecce  moriorT  I  lost  myself  in  wonderment  as  to 
what  this  small  quantity  of  honey  could  have  been 
which  was  so  fatal  in  its  effects.  The  preacher  said 
nothing  to  explain  this,  but  heightened  the  effect  of 
his  mysterious  allusion  with  the  words — pronounced 
in  a  very  hollow  and  lugubrious  tone — tetigisse  pe- 
riisse.  At  other  times  the  text  would  be  the  passage 
from  Jeremiah,  "  Mors  ascendit  per  fenestras^  This 
puzzled  me  still  more,  for  what  could  be  this  death 
which  came  up  through  the  windows,  these  butterfly 
wings  which  the  lightest  touch  polluted  ?  The 
preacher  pronounced  the  words  with  knitted  brow 
and  uplifted  eyes.  But  what  perplexed  me  most  of 
all  was  a  passage  in  the  life  of  some  saintly  person 
of  the  seventeenth  century  who  compared  women  to 
firearms  which  wound  from  afar.  This  was  quite  be- 
yond mfe,  and  I  made  all  manner  of  guesses  as  to 
how  a  woman  could  resemble  a  pistol.  It  seemed  so 
inconsistent  to  be  told  in  one  breath  that  a  woman 
wounds  from  afar,  and  in  another  that  to  touch  her 
is  perdition.  All  this  was  so  incomprehensible  that 
I  immersed  myself  in  study,  and  so  contrived  to  clear 
my  brain  of  it. 

Coming  from  persons  \x\  whom  I  felt  unbounded 
confidence,  these  absurdities  carried  conviction  to  my 
very  soul,  and  even  now,  after  fifty  years'  hard  expe- 


12  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

rience  of  the  world  ^  the  impression  has  not  quite 
worn  off.  The  comparison  between  women  and  fire- 
arms made  me  very  cautioils,  and  not  until  age  began 
to  creep  over  me  did  I  see  that  this  also  was  vanity, 
and  that  the  Preacher  was  right  when  he  said  :  ''  Go 
thy  way,  eat  thy  bread  joyfully  .  .  .  with  the  woman 
whom  thou  lovest.'*  My  ideas  upon  this  head  out- 
lived my  ideas  upon  religion,  and  this  is  why  I  have 
enjoyed  immunity  from  the  opprobrium  which  I 
should  not  unreasonably  have  been  subjected  to  if 
it  could  have  been  said  that  I  left  the  seminary  for 
other  reasons  than  those  deriving  from  philology. 
The  common-place  interrogation,  "  Where  is  the 
woman?'*  in  which  laymen  invariably  look  for  an 
explanation  of  all  such  cases,  cannot  but  seem  a  pal- 
try attempt  at  humor  to  those  who  see  things  as 
they  really  are.  My  early  days  were  passed  in  this 
high  school  of  faith  and  of  respect.  The  liberty  in 
which  so  many  giddy  youths  find  themselves  sud- 
denly landed  was  in  my  case  acquired  very  gradually, 
and  I  did  not  attain  the  degree  of  emancipation 
which  so  many  Parisians  reach  without  any  effort  of 
their  own,  until  I  had  gone  through  the  German  ex- 
egesis. It  took  me  six  years  of  meditation  and  hard 
study  to  discover  that  my  teachers  were  not  infalli- 

*  This  passage  was  written  at  Ischia  in  1875. 


THE  FLA X^CR  USHER,  1 3 

ble.  What  caused  me  more  grief  than  anything  else 
when  I  entered  upon  this  new  path  was  the  thought 
of  distressing  my  revered  masters ;  but  I  am  abso- 
lutely certain  that  I  was  right,  and  that  the  sorrow 
which  they  felt  was  the  consequence  of  their  narrow 
views  as  to  the  economy  of  the  universe. 


THE   FLAX-CRUSHER. 

^     PART   II. 

The  education  which  these  worthy  priests  gave 
me  was  not  a  very  literary  one.  We  turned  out  a 
good  deal  of  Latin  verse,  but  they  would  not  recog- 
nize any  French  poetry  later  than  the  Religion  of 
Racine  the  younger.  The  name  of  Lamartine  was 
pronounced  only  with  a  sneer,  and  the  existence  of 
M.  Hugo  was  not  so  much  as  known.  To  compose 
French  verse  was  regarded  as  a  very  dangerous  habit, 
and  would  have  been  sufficient  to  get  a  pupil  ex- 
pelled. I  attribute  partially  to  this  my  inability  to 
expressing  thoughts  in  rhyme,  and  this  inability  has 
often  caused  me  great  regret,  for  I  have  frequently 
felt  a  sort  of  inspiration  to  do  so,  but  have  invariably 
been  checked  by  the  association  of  ideas  which  has 
led  me  to  regard  versification  as  a  defect.  Our  stud- 
ies of  history  and  of  the  natural  sciences  were  not 
carried  far,  but,  upon  the  other  hand,  we  went  deep 
into  mathematics,  to  which  I  Applied  myself  with 
the  utmost  zest,  these  abstract  combinations  exer- 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  1 5 

cising  a  wonderful  fascination  over  me.  Our  pro- 
fessor, the  good  Abbe  Duchesne,  was  particularly 
attentive  m  his  lessons  to  me  and  to  my  close  friend 
and  fellow-student  Guyomar,  who, displayed  a  great 
aptitude  for  this  branch  of  study.  We  always  re- 
turned together  from  the  college.  Our  shortest  cut 
was  by  the  square,  and  we  were  too  conscientious  to 
deviate  from  the  most  direct  route  ;  but  when  we 
had  had  to  work  out  some  problem  more  intricate 
than  usual  our  discussion  of  it  lasted  far  beyond 
class-time,  and  on  those  occasions  we  made  our  way 
home  past  the  hospital.  This  road  took  us  past 
several  large  doors  which  were  always  shut,  and  upon 
which  we  worked  out  our  calculations  and  drew  our 
figures  in  chalk.  Traces  of  them  are  perhaps  visible 
there  still,-  for  these  were  the  doors  of  large  monas- 
teries, where  nothing  ever  changes. 

The  hospital-general,  so  called  because  it  was  the 
trysting-place  alike  of  disease,  old  age,  and  poverty^ 
was  a  very  large  structure,  standing,  like  all  old 
buildings,  upon  a  good  deal  of  ground,  and  having 
very  little  accommodation.  Just  in  front  of  the 
entran'ce  there  was  a  small  screen,  where  the  inmates 
who  were  either  well  or  recovering  from  illness  used 
to  meet  when  the  weather  was  fine,  for  the  hospital 
contained  not  only  the  sick,  but  the  paupers,  and 
even  persons  who  paid  a  small  sum  for  board  and 


l6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

lodging.  At  the  first  glimpse  of  sunshine  they  all 
came  to  sit  out  beneath  the  shade  of  the  screen  upon 
old  cane  chairs,  and  it  was  the  most  animated  place 
in  the  town.  Guyomar  and  myself  always  exchanged 
the  time  of  day  with  these  good  people  as  we  passed, 
and  we  were  greeted  with  no  little  respect,  for  though 
young  we  were  regarded  as  already  clerks  of  the 
Church.  This  seemed  quite  natural,  but  there  was 
one  thing  which  excited  our  astonishment,  though 
we  were  too  inexperienced  to  know  much  of  the 
world. 

Among  the  paupers  in  the  hospital  was  a  person 
whom  we  never  passed  without  surprise.  This  was 
an  old  maid  of  about  five-and-forty,  who  always 
wore  over  her  head  a  hood  of  the  most  singular 
shape  ;  as  a  rule  she  was  almost  motionless,  with  a 
sombre  and  lost  expression  of  countenance,  and  with 
her  eyes  glazed  and  hard-set.  When  we  went  by 
her  countenance  became  animated,  and  she  cast 
strange  looks  at  us,  sometimes  tender  and  melan- 
choly, sometimes  hard  and  almost  ferocious.  If  we 
looked  back  at  her  she  seemed  to  be  very  much 
put  out.  We  could  not  understand  all  this,  but  it 
had  the  effect  of  checking  our  conversation  and  any 
inclination  to  merriment.  We  were  not  exactly 
afraid  of  her,  for  though  she  was  supposed  to  be 
out  of  her  mind,  the  insane  were  not  treated  with 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  1/ 

the  cruelty  which  has  since  been  imported  into  the 
conduct  of  asylums.  So  far  from  being  sequestered 
they  were  allowed  to  wander  about  all  day  long. 
There  is  as  a  rule  a  good  deal  of  insanity  at  Tre- 
guier,  for,  like  all  dreamy  races,  which  exhaust  their 
mental  energies  in  pursuit  of  the  ideal,  the  Bretons 
of  this  district  only  too  readily  allow  themselves  to 
sink,  when  they  are  not  supported  by  a  powerful 
will,  into  a  condition  half  way  between  intoxica- 
tion and  folly,  and  in  many  cases  brought  about 
by  the  unsatisfied  aspirations  of  the  heart.  These 
harmless  lunatics,  whose  insanity  differed  very  much 
in  degree,  were  looked  upon  as  part  and  parcel  of 
tli^  town,  and  people  spoke  about  "  our  lunatics  ** 
just  as  at  Venice  people  say  "  7iostre  carampaney 
One  was  constantly  meeting  them,  and  they  passed 
the  time  of  day  with  us  and  made  some  joke,  at 
which,  sickly  as  it  was,  we  could  not  help  smiling. 
They  were  treated  with  kindness,  and  they  often 
did  a  service  in  their  turn.  I  shall  never  forget  a 
poor  fellow  called  Brian,  who  believed  that  he  was 
a  priest,  and  who  passed  part  of  the  day  in  church, 
going  through  the  ceremonies  of  mass.  There  was 
a  nasal  drone  to  be  heard  in  the  cathedral  every 
afternoon,  and  this  was  Brian  reciting  prayers,  which 
were  doubtless  not  less  acceptable  than  those  of 
other  people.     The  cathedral  officials  had  the  good 


1 8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

sense  not  to  interfere  with  him,  and  not  to  draw 
frivolous  distinctions  between  the  simple  and  the 
humble  who  came  to  kneel  before  their  God. 

The  insane  woman  at  the  hospital  was  much  less 
popular,  on  account  of  her  taciturn  ways;  She  never 
spoke  to  any  one,  and  no  one  knew  anything  of  her 
history.  She  never  said  a  word  to  us  boys,  but  her 
haggard  and  wild  look  made  a  deep  and  painful  im- 
pression upon  us.  I  had  often  thought  since  of 
this  enigma,  though  without  being  able  to  decipher 
it ;  but  I  obtained  a  clue  to  it  eight  years  ago,  when 
my  mother,  who  had  attained  the  age  of  eighty-five 
,  without  loss  of  health,  was  overtaken  by  an  illness 
which  slowly  undermined  her  strength.  ^ 

My  mother  was  in  every  respect,  whether  as  re- 
garded her  ideas  or  her  associations,  one  of  the  old 
school.  She  spoke  Breton  perfectly,  and  had  at  her 
fingers'  ends  all  the  sailors'  proverbs  and  a  host  of 
things  which  no  one  now  remembers.  She  was  a 
true  woman  of  the  people,  and  her  natural  wit  im- 
parted a  wonderful  amount  of  life  to  the  long  stories 
which  she  told  and  which  few  but  herself  knew. 
Her  sufferings  did  not  in  any  way  affect  her  spirits, 
and  she  was  quite  cheerful  the  afternoon  of  her 
death.  Of  an  evening  I  used  to  sit  with  her  for  an 
hour  in  her  room,  with  no  other  light — for  she  was 
very  fond  of  this  semi-obscurity — than  that  of  the 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  I9 

gas-lamp  in  the  street.  Her  lively  imagination  would 
then  assume  free  scope,  and,  as  so  often  happens 
with  old  people,  the  recollections  of  her  early  days 
came  back  with  special  force  and  clearness.  She 
could  remember  what  Treguier  and  Lannion  were 
before  the  Revolution,  and  she  would  describe  what 
the  different  houses  were  like,  and  who  lived  in  them. 
I  encouraged  her  by  questions  to  wander  on,  as  it 
amused  her  and  kept  her  thoughts  away  from  her 
illness. 

Upon  one  occasion  we  began  to  talk  of  the  hos- 
pital, and  she  gave  me  the  complete  history  of  it. 
"  Many  changes,"  to  use  her  own  words,  ''  have  oc- 
curred there  since  I  first  knew  it.  No  one  need  ever 
feel  any  shame  at  having  been  an  inmate  of  it,  for 
the  most  highly  respected  persons  have  resided 
there.  During  the  First  Empire,  and  before  the  in- 
demnities were  paid,  it  served  as  an  asylum  for  the 
poor  daughters  of  the  nobles,  who  might  be  seen 
sitting  out  at  the  entrance  upon  cane  chairs.  Not  a 
complaint  ever  escaped  their  lips,  but  when  they 
saw  the  persons  who  had  acquired  possession  of  their 
family  property  rolling  by  in  carriages,  they  would 
enter  the  chapel  and  engage  in  devotions  so  as  not 
to  meet  them.  This  was  done  not  so  much  to  avoid 
regretting  the  loss  of  goods,  of  which  they  had  made 
a  willing  sacrifice  to  God,  as  from  a  feeling  of  deli- 


20  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

cacy  lest  their  presence  might  embarrass  these  par- 
venus, A  few  years  later  the  parts  were  completely 
reversed,  but  the  hospital  still  continued  to  receive 
all  sorts  of  wreckage.  It  was  there  that  your  uncle, 
Pierre  Renan,  who  led  a  vagabond  life,  and  passed 
all  his  time  in  taverns  reading  to  the  tipplers  the 
books  he  borrowed  from  us,  died ;  and  old  Systeme, 
whom  the  priests  disliked  though  he  was  a  very  good 
man  ;  and  Gode,  the  old  sorceress,  who,  the  day  after 
you  were  born,  went  to  tell  your  fortune  in  the  Lake 
of  the  Minihi ;  and  Marguerite  Calvez,  who  perjured 
herself  and  was  struck  down  with  consumption  the 
very  day  she  heard  that  St.  Yves  had  been  im- 
plored to  bring  about  her  death  within  the  year.''  ^ 

"  And  who,''  I  asked  her,  "  was  that  mad  woman 
who  used  to  sit  under  the  screen,  and  of  whom 
Guyomar  and  myself  were  so  afraid?" 

Reflecting  a  moment  to  remember  whom  I  meant, 
she  replied,  "  Why,  she  was  the  daughter  of  the  flax- 
crusher." 

"•  Who  was  he  ?  " 

"  I  have  never  told  you  that  story.  It  is  too  old- 
fashioned  to  be  understood  at  the  present  day. 
Since  I  have  come  to  Paris  there  are  many  things  to 
which  I  have  never  alluded.  .  .  These  country  nobles 

*  I  may  perhaps  relate  all  these  anecdotes  at  a  future  time. 


THE   FLAX-CRUSHER,  21 

were  so  much  respected.  I  always  considered  them 
to  be  the  genuine  noblemen.  It  would  be  no  use 
telling  this  to  the  Parisians,  they  would  only  laugh 
at  me.  They  think  that  their  city  is  everything, 
and  in  my  view  they  are  very  narrow-minded.  Peo- 
ple have  no  idea  in  the  present  day  how  these  old 
country  noblemen  were  respected,  poor  as  they 
were." 

Here  my  mother  paused  for  a  little,  and  then 
went  on  with  the  story,  which  I  will  tell  in  her  own 
words. 


THE    FLAX-CRUSHER. 

PART   III. 

"  Do  you  remember  the  little  village  of  Tre- 
darzec,  the  steeple  of  which  was  visible  from  the 
turret  of  our  house  ?  About  half  a  mile  from  the 
village,  which  consisted  of  little  more  than  the 
church,  the  priest's  house,  and  the  mayor's  office, 
stood  the  manor  of  Kermelle,  which  was,  like  so 
many  others,  a  well-kept  farmhouse,  of  very  anti- 
quated appearance,  surrounded  by  a  lofty  wall,  and 
gray  with  age.  There  was  a  large  arched  doorway, 
surmounted  by  a  V-shaped  shelter  roofed  with  tiles, 
and  at  the  side  of  this  a  smaller  door  for  everyday 
use.  At  the  further  en^  of  the  courtyard  stood  the 
house  with  its  pointed  roof  and  its  gables  covered 
with  ivy.  The  dovecote,  a  turret,  and  two  or  three 
well-constructed  windows,  not  unlike  those  of  a 
church,  proved  that  this  was  the  residence  of  a 
noble,  one  of  those  old  houses  which  were  inhab- 
ited, previous  to  the  Revolution,  by  a  class  of  men 
whose  habits  and  mode  of  life  have  now  passed 
beyond  the  reach  of  imagination. 

22 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  23 

"  These  country  nobles  were  mere  peasants,^  but 
the  first  of  their  class.  At  one  time  there  was  only 
one  in  each  parish,  and  they  were  regarded  as  the 
representatives  and  mouthpieces  of  the  inhabitants, 
who  scrupulously  respected  their  rights  and  treated 
them  with  great  consideration.  But  toward  the 
close  of  the  last  century  they  were  beginning  to 
disappear  very  fast.  The  peasants  looked  upon 
them  as  being  the  lay  heads  of  the  parish,  just  as 
the  priest  was  the  ecclesiastical  head.  He  who  held 
this  position  at  Tredarzec  of  whom  I  am  speaking, 
was  an  elderly  man  of  fine  presence,  with  all  the 
force  and  vigor  of  youth,  and  a  frank  and  open 
face  ;  he  wore  his  hair  long  but  rolled  up  under 
a  comb,  only  letting  it  fall  on  Sunday,  when  he 
partook  of  the  Sacrament.  I  can  still  see  him — he 
often  came  to  visit  us  at  Treguier — with  his  serious 
air  and  a  tinge  of  melancholy,  for  he  was  almost  the 
sole  survivor  of  his  order,  the  majority  having  dis- 
appeared altogether,  while  the  others  had  come  to 
live  in  towns.  He  was  a  universal  favorite.  He 
had  a  seat  all  to  himself  in  church,  and  every  Sun- 
day he  might  be  seen  in  it,  just  in  front  of  the  rest 
of  the  congregation^  with  his  old-fashioned  dress 
and  his  long  gloves  reaching  almost  to  the  elbow. 

^•'  What  grand  landwehr  leaders  they  would  have  made  !  There 
are  no  such  men  in  the  present  day. 


24  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

When  the  Sacrament  was  about  to  be  administered 
he  withdrew  to  the  end  of  the  choir,  unfastened  his 
hair,  laid  his  gloves  upon  a  small  stool  placed  ex- 
pressly for  him  near  the  rood  screen,  and  walked  up 
the  aisle  unassisted  and  erect.  No  one  approached 
the  table  until  he  had  returned  to  his  seat  and  put 
on  his  gauntlets. 

"  He  was  very  poor,  but  he  made  a  point  of  con- 
cealing it  from  the  public.  These  country  nobles 
used  to  enjoy  certain  privileges  which  enabled  them 
to  live  rather  better  than  the  general  mass  of  peas- 
ants, but  these  gradually  faded  away,  and  Kermelle 
was  in  a  very  embarrassed  condition.  He  could  not 
well  work  in  the  fields,  and  he  kept  in  doors  all 
day,  having  an  occupation  which  could  be  followed 
under  cover.  When  flax  is  ripened,  it  is  put 
through  a  process  of  decortication,  which  leaves 
only  the  textile  fibre,  and  this  was  the  work  which 
poor  old  Kermelle  thought  that  he  could  do  with- 
out loss  of  dignity.  No  one  saw  him  at  it,  and  thus 
appearances  were  saved  ;  but  the  fact  was  generally 
known,  and  as  it  was  the  custom  to  give  every  one 
a  nickname,  he  was  soon  known  all  the  country  over 
as  *■  the  flax-crusher.'  This  sobriquet,  as  so  often 
happens,  gradually  took  the  place  of  his  proper 
name,  and  as  *  the  flax-crusher  *  he  was  soon  gen- 
erally known.  / 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  2$ 

"  He  was  like  a  patriarch  of  old,  and  you  would 
laugh  if  I  told  you  how  the  flax-crusher  eked  out 
his  subsistence,  and  added  to  the  scanty  wage  which 
he  received  for  this  work.  It  was  supposed  that  as 
head  of  the  village  he  had  special  gifts  of  healing, 
and  that  by  the  laying  on  of  his  hands,  and  in  other 
ways,  he  could  cure  many  complaints.  The  popular 
belief  was  that  this  power  was  only  possessed  by 
those  who  had  ever  so  many  quarterings  of  nobility, 
and  that  he  alone  had  the  requisite  number.  On 
certain  days  his  house  was  besieged  by  people  who 
had  come  a  distance  of  fifty  miles.  If  a  child  was 
backward  in  learning  to  walk  or  was  weak  on  its 
legs,  the  parents  brought  it  to  him.  He  moistened 
his  fingers  in  his  mouth  and  traced  figures  on  the 
child's  loins,  the  result  being  that  it  soon  was  able 
to  walk.  He  was  thoroughly  in  earnest,  for  these 
were  the  days  of  simple  faith.  Upon  no  account 
would  he  have  taken  any  money,  and  for  the  matter 
of  that  the  people  who  came  to  consult  him  were 
too  poor  to  give  him  any,  but  one  brought  a  dozen 
^gg^,  another  a  flitch  of  bacon,  a  third  a  jar  of  but- 
ter, or  some  fruit.  He  made  no  scruple  about  ac- 
cepting these,  and  though  the  nobles  in  the  towns 
ridiculed  him,  they  were  very  wrong  in  doing  so. 
He  knew  the  country  very  well,  and  was  the  very 
incarnation  and  embodiment  of  it. 


26  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

'^  At  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution  he  emigrated 
to  Jersey,  though  why  it  is  difficult  to  understand, 
for  no  one  assuredly  would  have  molested  him  ;  but 
the  nobles  of  Treguier  told  him  that  such  was  the 
king's  order,  and  he  went  off  with  the  rest.  He  was 
not  long  away,  and  when  he  came  back  he  found  his 
old  house,  which  had  not  been  occupied,  just  as  he 
had  left  it.  When  the  indemnities  were  distributed 
some  of  his  friends  tried  to  persuade  him  to  put  in 
a  claim  ;  and  there  was  much,  no  doubt,  which 
could  have  been  said  in  support  of  it.  But  though 
the  other  nobles  Avere  anxious  to  improve  his  posi- 
tion, he  would  not  hear  of  any  such  thing,  his  sole 
reply  to  all  arguments  being,  ^  I  had  nothing,  and  I 
could  lose  nothing.'  •  He  remained,  therefore,  as 
poor  as  ever. 

"  His  wife  died,  I  believe,  while  he  was  at  Jersey, 
and  he  had  a  daughter  who  was  born  about  the  same 
time.  She  was  a  tall  and  handsome  girl  (you  have 
only  known  her  since  she  has  lost  her  freshness),  with 
much  natural  vigor,  a  beautiful  complexion,  and  no 
lack  of  generous  blood  running  through  her  veins. 
She  ought  to  have  been  married  young,  but  that  was 
out  of  the  question,  for  those  wretched  little  starve- 
lings of  nobles  in  the  small  towns,  who  are  good  for 
nothing,  and  not  to  be  compared  with  him,  would 
not  have  heard  of  her  for  their  sons.     As  a  matter 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  2/ 

of  etiquette  she  could  not  marry  a  peasant,  and 
so  the  poor  girl  remained,  as  it  were,  in  mid-air, 
like  a  wandering  spirit.  There  was  no  place  for 
her  on  earth.  Her  father  was  the  last  of  his  race, 
and  it  seemed  as  if  she  had  been  brought  into  the 
world  with  the  destiny  of  not  finding  a  place  for 
herself  in  it.  Endowed  with  great  physical  beauty, 
she  scarcely  had  any  soul,  and  with  her  instinct  was 
everything.  She  would  have  made  an  excellent 
mother,  but  failing  marriage  a  religious  vocation 
would  have  suited  her  best,  as  the  regular  and  aus- 
tere mode  of  life  would  have  calmed  her  tempera- 
ment. But  her  father,  doubtless,  could  not  afford  to 
provide  her  with  a  dowry,  and  his  social  condition  for- 
bade the  idea  of  making  her  a  lay-sister.  Poor  girl ! 
driven  into  the  wrong  path,  she  was  fated  to  meet 
her  doom  there.  She  was  naturally  upright  and 
good,  with  a  full  knowledge  of  her  duties,  and  her 
only  fault  was  that  she  had  blood  in  her  veins.  None 
of  the  young  men  in  the  village  would  have  dreamt 
of  taking  a  liberty  with  her,  so  much  was  her  father 
respected.  The  feeling  of  her  superiority  prevented 
her  from  forming  any  acquaintance  with  the  young 
peasants,  and  they  never  thought  of  paying  their 
addresses  to  her.  The  poor  girl  lived,  therefore,  in 
a  state  of  absolute  solitude,  for  the  only  other  inhab- 
itant of  the  house  w^as  a  lad  of  twelve  or  thirteen,  a 


28  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

nephew,  whom  Kermelle  had  taken  under  his  care, 
and  to  whom  the  priest,  a  good  man  if  ever  there 
was  one,  taught  what  httle  Latin  he  knew  himself. 

"  The  Church  was  the  only  source  of  pleasure  left 
for  her.  She  was  of  a  pious  disposition,  though  not  en- 
dowed with  sufficient  intelligence  to  understand  any- 
thing of  the  mysteries  of  our  religion.  The  priest, 
very  zealous  in  the  performance  of  his  duties,  felt  no 
little  respect  for  the  flax-crusher,  and  spent  whatever 
leisure  time  he  had  at  his  house.  He  acted  as  tutor 
to  the  nephew,  treating  the  daughter  with  the  reserve 
which  the  clergy  of  Brittany  make  a  point  of  showing 
in  their  intercourse  with  the  opposite  sex.  He  wished 
her  good  day  and  inquired  after  her  health,  but  he 
never  talked  to  her  except  on  commonplace  subjects. 
The  unfortunate  girl  fell  violently  in  love  with  him. 
He  was  the  only  person  of  her  own  station,  so  to 
speak,  whom  she  ever  saw,  and  moreover,  he  was  a 
young  man  of  very  taking  appearance ;  combining 
with  an  attitude  of  great  outward  modesty  an  air  of 
subdued  melancholy  and  resignation.  One  could  see 
that  he  had  a  heart  and  strong  feeling,  but  that  a 
more  lofty  principle  held  them  in  subjection,  or  rather 
that  they  were  transformed  into  something  higher. 
You  know  how  fascinating  some  of  our  Breton  clergy 
are,  and  this  is  a  fact  very  keenly  appreciated  by 
women.     The  unshaken  attachment  to  a  vow,  which 


THE  FLAX-CRUSIIER,  29 

is  in  itself  a  sort  of  homage  to  their  power,  emboldens, 
attracts,  and  flatters  them.  The  priest  becomes 
for  them  a  trusty  brother  who  has  for  their  sake 
renounced  his  sex  and  carnal  delights.  Hence  is 
begotten  a  feeling  which  is  a  mixture  of  confidence, 
pity,  regret,  and  gratitude.  Allow  priests  to  marry 
and  you  destroy  one  of  the  most  necessary  elements 
of  Catholic  society.  Women  will  protest  against  such 
a  change,  for  there  is  something  which  they  esteem 
even  more  than  being  loved,  and  that  is  for  love  to  be 
made  a  serious  business.  Nothing  flatters  a  woman 
more  than  to  let  her  see  that  she  is  feared,  and  the 
Church  by  placing  chastity  in  the  first  place  among 
the  duties  of  its  ministers,  touches  the  most  sensitive 
chord  of  female  vanity. 

''  The  poor  girl  thus  gradually  became  immersed  in 
a  deep  love  for  the  priest.  The  virtuous  and  mystic 
race  to  which  she  belonged  knew  nothing  of  the 
frenzy  which  overcomes  all  obstacles  and  which  ac- 
counts nothing  accomplished  so  long  as  anything 
remains  to  be  accomplished.  Her  aspirations  were 
very  modest,  and  if  he  would  only  have  admitted  the 
fact  of  her  existence  she  would  have  been  content. 
She  did  not  want  so  much  as  a  look ;  a  place  in  his 
thoughts  would  have  been  enough.  The  priest  was, 
of  course,  her  confessor,  for  there  was  no  other  in 
the  parish.      The  mode  of  Catholic  confession,  so 


30  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

admirable  in  some  respects,  but  so  dangerous,  had  a 
great  effect  upon  her  imagination.  It  was  inexpres- 
sibly pleasing  to  her  to  find  herself  every  Saturday 
alone  with  him  for  half  an  hour,  as  if  she  were  face 
to  facewithGod,  to  see  him  discharging  the  functions 
of  God,  to  feel  his  breath,  to  undergo  the  welcome 
humiliation  of  his  reprimands,  to  confide  to  him  her 
inmost  thoughts,  scruples  and  fears.  You  must  not 
imagine,  however,  that  she  told  him  everything,  for 
a  pious  woman  has  rarely  the  courage  to  make  use 
of  the  confessional  for  a  love  confidence.  She  may 
perhaps  give  herself  up  to  the  enjoyment  of  senti- 
ments which  are  not  devoid  of  peril,  but  there  is 
always  a  certain  degree  of  mysticism  about  them 
which  is  not  to  be  conciliated  with  anything  so  hor- 
rible as  sacrilege.  At  all  events,  in  this  particular 
case,  the  girl  was  so  shy  that  the  words  would  have 
died  upon  her  lips,  and  her  passion  was  a  silent,  in- 
ward, and  devouring  fire.  And  with  all  this,  she  was 
compelled  to  see  him  every  day  and  many  times  a 
day ;  young  and  handsome,  always  following  a  digni- 
fied calling,  officiating  with  the  people  on  their  knees 
before  him,  the  judge  and  keeper  of  her  own  con-, 
science.  It  was  too  much  for  her,  and  her  head  began 
to  go.  Her  vigorous  organization,  deflected  from  its 
proper  course,  gave  way,  and  her  old  father  attributed 
to  weakness  of  mind  what  was  the  result  of  the 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  3 1 

ravages  wrought  by  the  fantastic  workings  of  a  love- 
stricken  heart. 

"Just  as  a  mountain  stream  is  turned  from  its 
course  by  some  insuperable  barrier,  the  poor  girl, 
with  no  means  of  making  her  affection  known  to  the 
object  of  it,  found  consolation  in  very  insignificant 
ways :  to  secure  his  notice  for  a  moment,  to  be  able 
to  render  him  any  slight  service,  and  to  fancy  that 
she  was  of  use  to  him  was  enough  ;  and  she  may  have 
said  to  herself,  who  can  tell  ?  he  is  a  man  after  all, 
and  he  may  perhaps  be  touched  in  reality  and  only 
restrained  from  showing  that  he  is  through  discipline. 
All. these  efforts  broke  against  a  bar  of  iron,  a  wall 
of  ice.  The  priest  maintained  the  same  cool  reserve. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  the  man  for  whom  he  felt 
the  greatest  respect ;  but  she  was  a  woman.  Oh  !  if 
he  had  avoided  her,  if  he  had  treated  her  harshly,  that 
would  have  been  a  triumph  and  a  proof  that  she  had 
made  his  heart  beat  for  her,  but  there  was  something 
terrible  about  his  unvarying  politeness  and  his  utter 
disregard  of  the  most  potent  signs  of  affection.  He 
made  no  attempt  to  keep  her  at  a  distance,  but 
merely  continued  steadfastly  to  treat  her  as  a  mere 
abstraction. 

"  After  the  lapse  of  a  certain  time  things  got  very 
bad.  Rejected  and  heart-broken  she  began  to  waste 
away,  and  her  eye   grew  haggard,  but    she  put  a 


32   '  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

restraint  upon  herself,  no  one  knew  her  secret! 
*  What,'  she  would  say  to  herself,  *  I  cannot  attract 
his  notice  for  a  moment ;  he  will  not  even  acknowl- 
edge my  existence ;  do  what  I  will,  I  can  only  be  for 
him  a  shadow,  a  phantom,  one  soul  among  a  hundred 
others.  It  would  be  too  much  to  hope  for  his  love, 
but  his  notice,  a  look  from  him.  .  .  .  To  be  the  equal 
of  one  so  learned,  so  near  to  God,  is  more  than  I 
could  hope,  and  to  bear  him  children  would  be  sacri- 
lege ;  but  to  be  his,  to  be  a  Martha  to  him,  to  be  his 
servant,  discharging  the  modest  duties  of  which  I 
am  capable,  so  as  to  have  all  in  common  with  him, 
the  household  goods  and  all  that  concerns  a  humble 
woman  who  is  not  initiated  in  any  higher  ideas,  that 
would  be  heavenly  ! '  She  would  remain  motionless 
for  whole  afternoons  upon  her  chair,  nursing  this  idea. 
She  could  see  him  and  picture  herself  with  him,  load- 
ing him  with  attentions,  keeping  his  house,  and 
pressing  the  hem  of  his  garment.  She  thrust  away 
these  idle  dreams  from  her,  but  after  having  been 
plunged  in  them  for  hours  she  was  deadly  pale  and 
oblivious  of  all  those  who  were  about  her.  Her 
father  might  have  noticed  it,  but  what  could  the 
poor  old  man  do  to  cure  an  evil  which  it  would  be 
impossible  for  a  simple  soul  like  his  to  so  much  as 
conceive. 

"  So  things  went  on  for  about  a  year.     The  proba- 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  33 

bility  is  that  the  priest  saw  nothing,  so  firmly  do  our 
clergy  adhere  to  the  resolution  of  living  in  an  atmos- 
phere of  their  own.  This  only  added  fuel  to  the 
fire.  Her  love  became  a  worship,  a  pure  adoration, 
and  so  she  gained  comparative  peace  of  mind.  Her 
imagination  took  quite  a  childish  turn,  and  she 
wanted  to  be  able  to  fancy  that  she  was  employed 
in  doing  things  for  him.  She  had  got  to  dream 
while  awake,  and,  like  a  somnambulist,  to  perform 
acts  in  a  semi-unconscious  state.  Day  and  night, 
one  thought  haunted  her:  she  fancied  herself  tending 
him,  counting  his  linen,  and  looking  after  all  the  de- 
tails of  his  household,  which  were  too  petty  to  oc- 
cupy his  thoughts.  All  these  fancies  gradually  took 
shape,  and  led  up  to  an  act  only  to  be  explained  by 
the  mental  state  to  which  she  had  for  some  time 
been  reduced.'* 

What  follows  would  indeed  be  incomprehensible 
without  a  knowledge  of  certain  peculiarities  in  the 
Breton  character.  The  most  marked  feature  in  the 
people  of  Brittany  is  their  affection.  Love  is  with 
them  a  tender,  deep,  and  affectionate  sentiment, 
rather  than  a  passion.  It  is  an  inward  delight  which 
wears  and  consumes,  differing  toto  ccelo  from  the  fiery 
passion  of  southern  races. 

The  paradise  of  their  dreams  is  cool  and  green, 
with  no  fierce  heat.     There  is  no  race  which  yields 


34  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

SO  many  victims  to  love ;  for,  though  suicide  is  rare, 
the  gradual  wasting  away  which  is  called  consump- 
tion is  very  prevalent.  It  is  often  so  with  the  young 
Breton  conscripts.  Incapable  of  finding  any  satis- 
faction 'in  mercenary  intrigues,  they  succumb  to  an 
indefinable  sort  of  languor,  which  is  called  home- 
sickness; though,  in  reality,  love  with  them  is  indis- 
solubly  associated  with  their  native  village,  with  its 
steeple  and  vesper  bells,  and  with  the  familiar  scenes 
of  home.  The  hot-blooded  southerner  kills  his  rival, 
as  he  may  the  object  of  his  passion.  The  sentiment 
of  which  I  am  speaking  is  fatal  only  to  him  who  is 
possessed  by  it,  and  this  is  why  the  people  of  Brit- 
tany are  so  chaste  a  race.  Their  lively  imagination 
creates  an  aerial  world  which  satisfies  their  aspira- 
tions. The  true  poetry  of  such  a  love  as  this  is  the 
sonnet  on  spring  in  the  Song  of  Solomon,  which  is 
far  more  voluptuous  than  it  is  passionate.  "  Hiems 
transiit  ;  imber  abiit  et  recessit  ....  Vox  turturis 
audita  est  in  terra  nostra  ....  Surge,  amica  mea, 
et  veni." 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER. 

PART   IV. 

My  mother,  resuming  her  story,  went  on  to 
say: — 

**  We  are  all,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  at  the  mercy  of 
our  illusions,  and  the  proof  of  this  is  that  in  many 
cases  nothing  is  easier  than  to  take  in  Nature  by 
devices  which  she  is  unable  to  distinguish  from  the 
reality.  I  shall  never  forget  the  daughter  of  Marzin, 
the  carpenter  in  the  High  Street,  who,  losing  her 
senses  owing  to  a  suppression  of  the  maternal  senti- 
ment, took  a  log  of  wood,  dressed  it  up  in  rags, 
placed  on  the  top  of  it  a  sort  of  baby's  cap,  and 
passed  the  day  in  fondling,  rocking,  hugging,  and 
kissing  this  artificial  infant.  When  it  was  placed  in 
the  cradle  beside  her  of  an  evening,  she  was  quiet  all 
night.  There  are  some  instincts  for  which  appear- 
ances suffice,  and  which  can  be  kept  quiet  by  fictions. 
Thus  it  was  that  Kermelle's  daughter  succeeded  in 
giving  reality  to  her  dreams.  Her  ideal  was  a  life  in 
common  with  the  man  she  loved,  and  the  one  which 
she   shared   in   fancy  was  not,   of  course,  that  of  a 

35 


36  RECOLLECTIOISrS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

priest,  but  the  ordinary  domestic  life.  She  was 
meant  for  the  conjugal  existence,  and  her  insanity 
was  the  result  of  an  instinct  for  housekeeping  being 
checkmated.  She  fancied  that  her  aspiration  was 
realized  and  that  she  was  keeping  house  for  the  man 
whom  she  loved ;  and^  as  she  was  scarcely  capable 
of  distinguishing  between  her  dreams  and  liw  reality^ 
she  was  the  victim  of  the  most  incredible  aberra- 
tions, which  prove  in  the  most  effectual  way  the 
sacred  laws  of  Nature  and  their  inevitable  fatality. 

"  She  passed  her  time  in  hemming  and  marking 
linen,  which,  in  her  idea,  was  for  the  house  where 
she  was  to  pass  her  life  at  the  feet  of  her  adored  one. 
The  hallucination  went  so  far  that  she  marked  the 
linen  with  the  priest's  initials ;  often  with  his  and 
her  own  interlaced.  She  plied  her  needle  with  a 
very  deft  hand,  and  would  work  for  hours  at  a 
stretch,  absorbed  in  a  delicious  reverie.  So  she  satis- 
fied her  cravings,  and  passed  through  moments  of 
delight  which  kept  her  .happy  for  days. 

"  Thus  the  weeks  passed,  while  she  traced  the 
name  so  dear  to  her,  and  associated  it  with  her  own 
— this  alone  being  a  pastime  which  consoled  her. 
Her  hands  were  always  busy  in  his  service,  and  the 
linen  which  she  had  sewn  for  him  seemed  to  be  her- 
self. It  would  be  used  and  touched  by  him,  and 
there  was  deep  joy  in  the  thought.     She  would  be 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  3/ 

always  deprived  of  him,  it  was  true,  but  the  impos- 
sible must  remain  the  impossible,  and  she  would 
have  drawn  herself  as  near  to  him  as  could  be.  For 
a  whole  year  she  fed  in  fancy  upon  her  pitiful  little 
happiness.  Alone,  and  with  her  eyes  intent  upon 
her  work,  she  lived  in  another  world,  and  believed 
herself  to  be  his  wife  in  a  humble  measure.  The 
hours  flowed  on  slowly  like  the  motion  of  her  needle  ; 
her  hapless  imagination  was  relieved.  And  then  she 
at  times  indulged  in  a  little  hope.  Perhaps  he  would 
be  touched,  even  to  tears,  when  he  made  the  dis- 
covery, testifying  to  her  great  love.  ^  He  will  see 
how  I  love  him,  and  he  will  understand  how  sweet 
it  is  to  be  brought  together/  She  would  be  wrapped 
for  days  at  a  time  in  these  dreams,  which  were 
nearly  always  followed  by  a  period  of  extreme  pros- 
tration. 

"  In  course  of  time  the  work  was  completed,  and 
then  came  the  question,  *  What  should  she  do  with 
it  ?  *  The  idea  of  compelling  him  to  accept  a  service, 
to  be  under  some  sort  of  obligation  to  her,  took 
complete  possession  of  her  mind.  She  determined 
to  steal  his  gratitude,  if  I  may  so  express  myself ;  to 
compel  him  by  force  to  feel  obliged  to  her ;  and  this 
was  the  plan  she  resolved  upon.  It  was  devoid  of 
all  sense  or  reason,  but  her  mind  was  gone,  and  she 
had  long  since  been  led  away  by  the  vagaries  of  her 


38  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

disordered  imagination.  The  festivals  of  Christmas 
were  about  to  be  celebrated.  After  the  midnight 
mass  the  priest  was  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  the 
mayor  and  the  notabilities  of  the  village  at  supper. 
His  house  adjoined  the  church,  and  besides  the  prin- 
cipal door  opening  on  to  the  village  square,  there 
were  two  others,  one  leading  into  the  vestry  and  so 
into  the  church,  and  another  into  the  garden  and  the 
fields  beyond.  Kermelle  Manor  was  about  five  hun- 
dred yards  distant,  and  to  save  the  nephew — who 
took  lessons  from  the  priest — making  a. long  round, 
he  had  been  given  a  key  of  this  back  door.  The 
daughter  got  possession  of  this  key  while  the  mass 
was  being  celebrated,  and  entered  the  house.  The 
priest's  servant  had  laid  the  cloth  in  advance,  so  as 
to  be  free  to  attend  mass,  and  the  poor  daft  girl  hur- 
riedly removed  the  tablecloth  and  napkins  and  hid 
them  in  the  manor-house.  When  mass  was  over  the 
theft  was  detected  at  once,  and  caused  very  great 
surprise,  the  first  thing  noticed  being  that  the  linen 
alone  had  been  taken.  The  priest  was  unwilling  to 
let  his  guests  go  away  supperless,  and  while  they 
were  consulting  as  to  what  to  do,  the  girl  herself  ar- 
rived, saying,  'You  will  not  decline  our  good  offices 
this  time,  Monsieur  le  Cur6.  You  shall  have  our 
linen  here  in  a  few  minutes.*  Her  father  expressed 
himself  in  the  same  sense,  and  the  priest  could  not 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  39 

but  assent,  little  dreaming  of  what  a  trick  had  been 
played  upon  him  by  a  person  who  was  generally  sup- 
posed to  be  so  wanting  in  intelligence. 

"  This  singular  robbery  was  further  investigated 
the  next  day.  There  was  no  sign  of  any  force  hav- 
ing been  used  to  get  into  the  house.  The  main  door 
and  the  one  leading  into  the  garden  were  untouched 
and  locked  as  usual.  It  never  occurred  to  any  one 
that  the  key  intrusted  to  young  Kermelle  could  have 
been  used  to  commit  the  robbery.  It  followed, 
therefore,  that  the  theft  must  have  been  committed 
by  way  of  the  vestry  door.  The  clerk  had  been  in 
the  church  all  the  time,  but  his  wife  had  been  in  and 
out.  She  had  been  to  the  fire  to  get  some  coals  for 
the  censers,  and  had  attended  to  two  or  three  other 
little  details ;  and  so  suspicion  fell  on  her.  She  was 
a  very  respectable  woman,  and  it  seemed  most  im- 
probable that  she  would  be  guilty  of  such  an  offence, 
but  the  appearances  were  dead  against,  her.  There 
was  no  getting  away  from  the  argument  that  the 
thief  had  entered  by  the  vestry  door,  that  she  alone 
could  have  gone  through  this  door,  and  that,  as  she 
herself  admitted,  she  did  go  through  it.  The  far  too 
prevalent  idea  of  those  days  was  that  every  offence 
must  be  followed  by  an  arrest.  This  gave  a  very 
high  idea  of  the  extraordinary  sagacity  of  justice,  of 
its  prompt  perspicacity,   and  of  the  rapidity  with 


40  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

which  it  tracked  out  crime.  The  unfortunate  woman 
was  walked  off  between  two  gendarmes.  The  effect 
produced  by  the  gendarmes,  with  their  burnished 
arms  and  imposing  cross-belts,  when  they  made  their 
appearance  in  a  village  was  very  great.  All  the 
spectators  were  in  tears;  the  prisoner  alone  retained 
her  composure,  and  told  them  ail  that  she  was  con- 
vinced her  innocence  would  be  made  clear. 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  within  forty-eight  hours 
it  was  seen  that  a  blunder  had  been  committed. 
Upon  the  third  day,  the  villagers  hardly  ventured 
to  speak  to  one  another  on  the  subject,  for  they  all 
of  them  had  the  same  idea  in  their  heads,  though 
they  did  not  like  to  give  utterance  to  it.  The  idea 
seemed  to  them  not  less  absurd  than  it  was  self- 
evident,  viz.,  that  the  flax-crusher's  key  must  have 
been  used  for  the  robbery.  The  priest  remained 
within  doors  so  as  to  ayoid  having  to  give  utterance 
to  the  suspicion  which  obtruded  itself  upon  him. 
He  had  not  as  yet  examined  very  closely  the  linen 
which  had  been  sent  from  the  manor  in  place  of  his 
own.  His  eyes  happened  to  fall  upon  the  initials, 
and  he  was  too  surprised  to  understand  the  mysteri- 
ous allusion  of  the  two  letters,  being  unable  to  follow 
the  strange  hallucinations  of  an  unhappy  lunatic. 

"While  he  was  immersed  in  melancholy  reflec- 
tion, the   flax-crusher  entered   the   room,  with  his 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  4 1 

figure  as  upright  as  ever,  but  pale  as  death.  The 
old  man  stood  up  in  front  of  the  priest  and  burst 
into  tears,  exckihiing  :  ^  It  is  my  miserable  girl.  I 
ought  to  have  kept  a  closer  watch  over  her  and 
have  found  out  what  her  thoughts  were  about,  but 
with  her  constant  melancholy  she  gave  me  the  slip.* 
He  then  revealed  the  secret,  and  within  an  hour  the 
stolen  linen  was  brought  back  to  the  priest's  house. 
The  delinquent  had  hoped  that  the  scandal  would 
soon  be  forgotten,  and  that  she  would  revel  in  peace 
over  the  success  of  her  little  plot,  but  the  arrest  of 
the  clerk's  wife  and  the  sensation  which  it  caused 
spoilt  the  whole  thing.  If  her  moral  sense  had  not 
been  entirely  obliterated,  her  first  thought  would 
have  been  to  get  the  clerk's  wife  set  at  liberty,  but 
she  paid  little  or  no  heed  to  that.  She  was  plunged 
in  a  kind  of  stupor  which  had  nothing  in  common 
with  remorse,  and  what  so  prostrated  her  was  the 
evident  failure  of  her  attempt  to  move  the  feehngs 
of  the  priest.  Most  men  would  have  been  touched 
by  the  revelation  of  so  ardent  a  passion,  tut  the 
priest  was  unmoved.  He  banished  all  thought  of 
this  remarkable  event  from  his  mind,  and  when 
he  was  ^ fully  convinced  of  the  imprisoned  woman's 
innocence  he  went  to  sleep,  celebrated  mass  the 
next  morning,  and  recited  his  breviary  just  as  if 
nothing  had  happened. 


42  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

^'  That  a  blunder  had  been  committed  in  arresting 
this  woman  then  became  painfully  evident,  as  but 
for  this  the  matter  might  have  been  hushed  up. 
There  had  been  no  actual  robbery,  but  after  an 
innocent  woman  had  been  several  days  in  prison  on 
the  charge  of  theft,  it  was  very  difficult  to  let  the 
real  culprit  go  unpunished.  Her  insanity  was  not 
self-evident,  and  it  may  even  be  said  that  there  were 
no  outward  signs  of  it.  Up  to  that  time  it  had 
never  occurred  to  any  one  that  she  was  insane,  for 
there  was  nothing  singular  in  her  conduct  except 
her  extreme  taciturnity.  It  was  easy,  therefore,  to 
question  her  insanity,  while  the  true  explanation  of 
the  act  was  so  incredible  and  so  strange  that  her 
friends  could  not  well  bring  it  forward.  The  fact  of 
having  allowed  the  clerk^s  wife  to  be  arrested  was 
inexcusable.  If  the  taking  of  the  linen  had  only 
been  a  joke,  the  perpetrator  ought  to  have  brought 
it  to  an  end  when  a  third  person  was  made  a  victim 
of  it.  She  was  arrested  and  taken  to  St.  Brieuc  for 
the  assizes.  Her  prostration  was  so  complete  that 
she  seemed  to  be  out  of  the  world.  Her  dream  was 
over,  and  the  fancy  upon  which  she  had  fed  and 
which  had  sustained  her  for  a  time  had  fled.  She 
was  not  in  the  least  violent,  but  so  dejected  that 
when  the  medical  men  examined  her  they  at  once 
saw  what  was  the  true  state  of  the  case. 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER,  4^ 

"  The  case  was  soon  disposed  of  in  court.  She 
would  not  reply  a  word  to  the  examining  judge. 
The  flax-crusher  came  into  court  erect  and  self-pos- 
sessed as  usual,  with  a  look  of  resignation  on  his 
face.  He  came  up  to  the  bar  of  the  witness-box 
and  deposited  upon  the  ledge  his  gloves,  his  cross  of 
St.  Louis,  and  his  scarf.  ^  Gentlemen  of  the  jury,' 
he  said,  ^  I  can  only  put  these  on  again  if  you  tell 
me  to  do  so  ;  my  honor  is  in  your  hands.  She  is 
the  culprit,  but  she  is  not  a  thief.  She  is  ill.'  The 
poor  fellow  burst  into  tears,  and  his  utterance  was 
choked  with  them.  There  was  a  general  murmur  of 
*  Don't  carry  it  any  further.'  The  counsel  for  the 
Crown  had  the  tact  not  to  enter  upon  a  dissertation 
as  to  a  singular  case  of  amorous  psychology  and 
abandoned  the  prosecution. 

"  The  jury,  all  of  whom  were  in  tears,  did  not 
take  long  to  deliberate.  When  the  verdict  of  ac- 
quittal was  recorded,  the  flax-crusher  put  on  his 
decorations  again  and  left  the  court  as  quickly  as 
possible,  taking  his  daughter  back  with  him  to  the 
village  at  nightfall. 

"  The  scandal  was  such  a  public  one  that  the 
priest  could  not  fail  to  learn  the  truth  in  respect  to 
many  matters  which  he  endeavored  to  ignore.  This, 
however,  did  not  affect  him,  and  he  did  not  ask  the 
bishop  to  remove  him  to  another  parish,  nor  did  the 


44  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOU  TIL 

bishop  suggest  any  change.  It  might  be  thought 
that  he  must  have  felt  some  embarrassment  the  first 
time  that  he  met  Kermelle  and  his  daughter.  But 
such  was  not  the  case.  He  went  to  the  manor  at 
an  hour  when  he  knew  that  he  would  find  Kermelle 
and  his  daughter  at  home,  and  addressing  himself  to 
the  latter  he  said :  '  You  have  been  guilty  of  a  great 
sin,  not  so  much  by  your  folly,  for  which  God  will 
forgive  you,  but  in  allowing  one  of  the  best  of 
women  to  be  sent  to  jail.  An  innocent  woman  has, 
by  your  misconduct,  been  treated  for  several  days 
as  a  thief,  and  carried  off  to  prison  by  gendarmes 
in  the  sight  of  the  whole  parish.  You  owe  her  some 
sort  of  reparation.  On  Sunday,  the  clerk's  wife  will 
be  seated  as  usual  in  the  last  row,  near  the  church- 
door  ;  at  the  Belief,  you  will  go  and  fetch  her  and 
lead  her  by  the  hand  to  your  seat  of  honor,  which 
she  is  better  worthy  to  occupy  than  you  are.' 

"The  poor  creature  did  mechanically  what  she  was 
bid,  and  she  had  ceased  to  be  a  sentient  being.  From 
this  time  forth,  little  was  ever  seen  of  the  flax- 
crusher  and  his  family.  The  manor  had  become, 
as  it  were,  a  tomb,  from  which  issued  no  sign  of 
life. 

"  The  clerk's  wife  was  the  first  to  die.  The  emotion 
had  been  too  much  for  this  simple  soul.  She  had 
never  doubted  the  goodness  of  Providence,  but  the 


THE  FLAX-CRUSHER.  45 

whole  business  had  upset  her,  and  she  gradually  grew 
weaker.  She  was  a  saintly  woman,  with  the  most 
exquisite  sentiment  of  devotion  for  the  Church.  This 
would  scarcely  be  understood  now  in  Paris,  where  the 
church,  as  a  building,  goes  for  so  little.  One  Saturday 
evening,  she  felt  her  end  approaching,  and  her  joy  was 
great.  She  sent  for  the  priest,  her  mind  full  of  a 
long-cherished  project,  which  was  that  during  high 
mass  on  Sunday  her  body  should  be  laid  upon  the 
trestles  which  are  used  for  the  coffins.  It  would  be 
joy  indeed  to  hear  mass  once  again,  even  in  death, 
to  listen  to  those  w^ords  of  consolation  and  those 
hymns  of  salvation  ;  to  be  present  there  beneath  the 
funeral  pall,  amid  the  assembled  congregation,  the 
family  which  she  had  so  dearly  loved,  to  hear  them 
all,  herself  unseen,  while  all  their  thoughts  and  prayers 
were  for  her,  to  hold  communion  once  again  with 
these  pious  souls  before  being  laid  in  the  earth.  Her 
prayer  was  granted,  and  the  priest  pronounced  a  very 
edifying  discourse  over  her  grave. 

"  The  old  man  lived  on  for  several  years,  dying  inch 
by  inch,  secluded  in  his  house,  and  never  conversing 
with  the  priest.  »He  attended  church,  but  did  not 
occupy  his  front  seat.  He  was  so  strong  that  his 
agony  lasted  eight  or  ten  years. 

**  His  walks  were  confined  to  the  avenue  of  tall  lime- 
trees  which  skirted  the  manor.     While  pacing  up  and 


46  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

down  there  one  day,  he  saw  something  strange  upon 
the  horizon.  It  was  the  tricolor  flag  floating  from 
the  steeple  of  Treguier  ;  the  Revolution  of  1830  had 
just  been  effected.  When  he  learnt  that  the  king 
was  an  exile,  he  saw  only  too  well  that  he  had  been 
bearing  his  part  in  the  closing  scenes  of  a  world. 
The  professional  duty  to  which  he  had  sacrificed 
everything  ceased  to  have  any  object.  He  did  not 
regret  having  formed  too  high  an  idea  of  duty,  and  it 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  have  grown  rich 
as  others  had  done  ;  but  he  lost  faith  in  all  save  God. 
The  Carlists  of  Treguier  went  about  declaring  that 
the  new  order  of  things  would  not  last,  and  that  the 
rightful  king  would  soon  return.  He  only  smiled  at 
these  foolish  predictions,  and  died  soon  afterward, 
assisted  m  his  last  moments  by  the  priest,  who 
expounded  to  him  that  beautiful  passage  in  the  burial 
service  :  '  Be  not  like  the  heathen,  who  are  without 
hope.* 

'^  After  his  death  his  daughter  was  totally  unpro- 
vided for,  and  arrangements  were  made  for  placing 
her  in  the  hospital  where  you  saw  her.  No  doubt 
she,  too,  is  dead  ere  this,  and  that«  another  sleeps  in 
her  bed  at  the  hospital." 


PRAYER  ON  THE  ACROPOLIS,  ST.  RENAN, 
MY  UNCLE  PIERRE,  GOOD  MASTER 
SYSTEME   AND   LITTLE   NOEMI. 


PRAYER   ON   THE   ACROPOLIS. 

It  was  not  until  I  was  well  advanced  in  life  that 
I  began  to  have  any  souvenirs.  The  imperious 
necessity  which  compelled  me  during  my  early  years 
to  solve  for  myself,  not  with  the  leisurely  deliberation 
of  the  thinker,  but  with  the  feverish  ardor  of  one 
who  has  to  struggle  for  life,  the  loftiest  problems 
of  philosophy  and  religion  never  left  me  a  quarter 
of  an  hour^s  leisure  to  look  behind  me.  Afterward 
dragged  into  the  current  of  the  century  in  which  I 
lived,  and  concerning  which  I  was  in  complete 
ignorance,  there  was  suddenly  disclosed  to  my  gaze  a 
spectacle  as  novel  to  me  as  the  society  of  Saturn  or 
Venus  would  be  to  any  one  landed  in  those  planets. 
It  struck  me  as  being  paltry  and  morally  inferior 
to  what  I  had  seen  at  Issy  and  St.  Sulpice  ;  though 
the  great  scientific  and  critical  attainments  of  men 
like  Eugene  Burnouf,  the  brilliant  conversation  of 
M.  Cousin,  and  the  revival  brought  about  by  Ger- 
many in  nearly  all  the  historical  sciences,  coupled 
with  my  travels  and  the  fever  of  production,  carried 
me  away  and  prevented  me  from  meditating  on  the 
3  49 


so  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

years  which  were  already  relegated  to  what  seemed 
like  a  distant  past.  My  residence  in  Syria  tended 
still  further  to  obliterate  my  early  recollections.  The 
new  sensations  which  I  experienced  there,  the 
glimpses  which  I  caught  of  a  divine  world,  so  differ- 
ent from  our  frigid  and  sombre  countries,  absorbed 
my  whole  being.  My  dreams  were  haunted  for  a 
time  by  the  burnt-up  mountain-chain  of  Galaad  and 
the  peak  of  Safed,  where  the  Messiah  was  to  appear, 
by  Carmel  and  its  beds  of  anemone  sown  by  God,  by 
the  Gulf  of  Aphaca  whence  issues  the  river  Adonis. 
Strangely  enough,  it  was  at  Athens,  m  1865,  that  I 
first  felt  a  strong  backward  impulse,  the  effect  being 
that  of  a  fresh  and  bracing  breeze  coming  from  afar. 
The  impression  which  Athens  made  upon  me  was 
the  strongest  which  I  have  ever  felt.  There  is  one 
and  only  one  place  in  which  perfection  exists,  and 
that  is  Athens,  which  outdid  anything  I  had  ever 
imagined.  I  had  before  my  eyes  the  ideal  of  beauty 
crystallized  in  the  marble  of  Pentelicus.  I  had 
hitherto  thought  that  perfection  was  not  to  be  found 
in  this  world ;  one  thing  alone  seemed  to  come  any- 
where near  to  perfection.  For  some  time  past  I  had 
ceased  to  believe  in  miracles  strictly  so  called,  though 
the  singular  destiny  of  the  Jewish  people,  leading  up 
to  Jesus  and  Christianity,  appeared  to  me  to  stand 
alone.     And  now  suddenly  there  arose  by  the  side 


PRAYER  ON   THE  ACROPOLIS.  Si 

of  the  Jewish  miracle  the  Greek  miracle,  a  thing 
which  has  only  existed  once,  which  had  never  been 

•  seen  before,  which  will  never  be  seen  again,  but  the 
effect  of  which  will  last  forever,  an  eternal  type  of 
beauty,  without  a  single  blemish,  local  or  national. 
I  of  course  knew  before  I  went  there  that  Greece 
had   created  science,   art  and   philosophy,   but  the 

,  means  of  measurement  were  wanting.  The  sight  of 
the  Acropolis  was  like  a  revelation  of  the  Divine, 
such  as  that  which  I  experienced  when,  gazing  down 

vupon  the  valley  of  the  Jordan  from  the  heights  of 
Casyoun,  I  first  felt  the  living  reality  of  the  Gospel. 
The  whole  world  then  appeared  to  me  barbarian.  The 
East  repelled  me  by  its  pomp,  its  ostentation,  and 
its  impostures.  The  Romans  were  merely  rough 
soldiers ;  the  majesty  of  the  noblest  Roman  of  them 
all,  of  an  Augustus  and  a  Trajan,  was  but  attitudinizru--' 
ing  comj^ikred  to  the  ease  and  simple  nobility  of  these 
proud  and  peaceful  citizens.  Celts,  Germans  and 
Slavs  appeared  as  conscientious  but  scarcely  civilized 
Scythians.  Our  own  Middle  Ages  seemed  to  me  de- 
void of  elegance  and  style,  disfigured  by  misplaced 
pride  and  pedantry.  Charlemagne  was  nothing  more 
than  an  awkward  German  stableman ;  our  chevaliers 
louts  at  whom  Themistocles  and  Alcibiades  would 
have  laughed.  But  here  you  had  a  whole  people  of 
aristocrats,   a  general   public   composed   entirely   of 


52  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

connoisseurs,  a  democracy  which  was  capable  of  dis- 
tinguishing shades  of  art  so  deHcate  that  even  our 
most  refined  judges  can  scarcely  appreciate  them. 
Here  you  had  a  public  capable  of  understanding  in 
what  consisted  the  beauty  of  the  Propylon  and  the 
superiority  of  the  sculptures  of  the  Parthenon.     This 
revelation  of  true  and  simple  grandeur  went  to  my 
very  soul.     All  that  I  had  hitherto  seen  seemed  to 
me  the  awkward  effort  of  a  Jesuitical  art,  a  rococo 
mixture  of  silly  pomp,  charlatanism  and  caricature. 
These  sentiments  were  stronger  as  I  stood  on  the 
Acropolis  than  anywhere  else.  An  excellent  architect 
i    with  whom  I  had  traveled  would  often  remark  that 
'    to  his  mind  the  truth  of  the  gods  was  in  proportion 
to  the  solid  beauty  of  the  temples  reared  in  their 
honor.     Judged  by  this  standard,  Athens  would  have 
no  rival.     What  adds  so  much  to  the  beauty  of  the 
buildings  is  their  absolute  honesty  and  tlft  respect 
/  shown  to  the   Divinity.     The  parts  of  the  building 
/  not  seen  by  the  public  are  as  well  constructed  as 
those  which  meet  the  eye,  and  there  are  none  of 
those  deceptions  which,  in  French   churches  more 
particularly,  give  the  idea  of  being  intended  to  mis- 
lead the  Divinity   as  to  the  value  of  the  offering. 
The  aspect  of  rectitude  and  seriousness  which  I  had 
.    before  me  caused  me  to  blush  at  the  thought   of 
\  having  often  done  sacrifice  to  a  less  pure  ideal.    The 


\ 


PRAYER   ON  THE  ACROPOLIS,  53 

hours  which  I  passed  on  the  sacred  eminence  were 
hours  of  prayer.  My  whole  Hfe  unfolded  itself,  as 
in  a  general  confession,  before  my  eyes.  Bijtthe  ' 
mast  singulat-  tliincr  vjaq^Hat  in  confessing  my  sins  I 
got  to  like  them,  and  my  resolve  to  become  classical 
eventually  drove  me  into  jn^t  X"^^  opposite  direction.  \ 
An  old  document  which  I  have  lighted  upon  among 
my  memoranda  of  travel  contains  the  following : 

Prayer  which  I  said  on  the  Acropolis  when  I  had 
succeeded  in  understanding  the  perfect  beauty  of  it. 

*^  Oh  !  nobility  !  Oh  !  true  and  simple  beauty  ! 
Goddess,  the  worship  of  whom  signifies  reason  and 
wisdom,  thou  whose  temple  is  an  eternal  lesson  of 
conscience  and  truth,  I  come  late  to  the  threshold  of 
thy  mysteries ;  I  bring  to  the  foot  of  thy  altar  much 
remorse.  Ere  finding  thee,  I  have  had  to  make  in- 
finite search.  The  initiation  which  thou  didst  confer 
by  a  smile  upon  the  Athenian  at  his  birth  I  have 
acquired  by  force  of  reflection  and  long  labor. 

"  I  am  born,  oh  goddess  of  the  blue  eyes,  of  bar- 
barian parents,  among  the  good  and  virtuous  Cim- 
merians who  dwell  by  the  shore  of  a  melancholy  sea, 
bristling  with  rocks  ever  lashed  by  the  storm.  The 
sun  is  scarcely  known  in  this  country,  its  flowers  are 
seaweed,  marine  plants,  and  the  colored  shells  which 
are  gathered  in  the  recesses  of  lonely  bays.  The 
clouds  seem  colorless,  and  even  joy  is  rather  sorrow- 


54  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

ful  there ;  but  fountains  of  fresh  water  spring  out  of 
the  rocks,  and  the  eyes  of  the  young  girls  are  Hke 
the  green  fountains  in  which,  with  their  beds  of 
waving  herbs,  the  sky  is  mirrored. 

"  My  forefathers,  as  far  as  we  can  trace  them,  have 
passed  their  Hves  in  navigating  the  distant  seas,  which 
thy  Argonauts  knew  not.  I  used  to  hear  as  a  child 
the  songs  which  told  of  voyages  to  the  Pole ;  I  was 
cradled  amid  the  souvenir  of  floating  ice,  of  misty 
seas  like  milk,  of  islands  peopled  with  birds  which 
now  and  again  would  warble,  and  which,  when  they 
rose  in  flight,  darkened  the  air. 

*^  Priests  of  a  strange  creed,  handed  down  from 
the  Syrians  of  Palestine,  brought  me  up.  These 
priests  were  wise  and  good.  They  taught  me  long 
lessons  of  Cronos,  who  created  the  world,  and  of -his 
son,  who,  as  they  told  me,  made  a  journey  upon 
earth.  Their  temples  are  thrice  as  lofty  as  thine,  oh 
Eurhythmia,  and  dense  like  forests.  But  they  are 
not  enduring,  and  crumble  to  pieces  at  the  end  of 
five  or  six  hundred  years.  They  are  the  fantastic 
creation  of  barbarians,  who  vainly  imagine  that  they 
can  succeed  without  observing  the  rules  which  thou 
hast  laid  down,  oh  Reason !  Yet  these  temples 
pleased  me,  for  I  had  not  then  studied  thy  divine  art 
and  God  was  present  to  me  in  them.  Hymns  were 
sung  there,  and  among  those  which  I  can  remember 


PRAYER   ON   THE  ACROPOLIS.  55 

were :  *  Hail  star  of  the  sea Queen  of  those 

who  mourn  in  this  valley  of  tears 'or  again, 

'  Mystical  rose,  tower  of  ivory,  house  of  gold,  star  of 

the  morning '  Yes,  Goddess,  when  I  recall 

these  hymns  of  praise  my  heart  melts,  and  I  become 
almost  an  apostate.  Forgive  me  this  absurdity ;  thou 
canst  not  imagine  the  charm  which  these  barbarians 
have  imparted  to  verse,  and  how  hard  it  is  to  follow 
the  path  of  pure  reason. 

"  And  if  thou  knewest  how  difficult  it  has  become 
to  serve  thee.  All  nobility  has  disappeared.  The 
Scythians  have  conquered  the  world.  There  is  no 
longer  a  Republic  of  free  citizens ;  the  world  is 
governed  by  kings  whose  blood  scarcely  courses  in 
their  veins,  and  at  whose  majesty  thou  wouldst 
smile.     Heavy  hyperboreans  denounce  thy  servants 

as  frivolous A  formidable  PaubcBotia^  a  league 

of  fools,  weighs  down  upon  the  world  with  a  pall  of 
lead.  Thou  must  fain  despise  even  those  who  pay 
thee  worship.  Dost  thou  remember  the  Caledonian 
who  half  a  century  ago  broke  up  thy  temple  with  a 
hammer  to  carry  it  away  with  him  to  Thule?  He 
is  no  worse  than  the  rest I  wrote  in  accord- 
ance with  some  of  the  rules  which  thou  lovest,  oh 
Theonoe,  the  life  of  the  young  god  whom  I  served 
in  my  childhood,  and  for  this  they  beat  me  like  a 
Euhemerus  and  wonder  what  my  motives  can  be. 


56  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

believing  only  in  those  things  which  enrich  their 
trapezite  tables.  And  why  do  we  write  the  lives  of 
the  gods  if  it  is  not  to  make  the  reader  love  what  is 
divine  in  them,  and  to  show  that  this  divine  past 
yet  lives  and  will  ever  live  in  the  heart  of  humanity  ? 

"  Dost  thou  remember  the  day  wljen,  Dionyso- 
dorus  being  Archon,  an  ugly  little  Jew,  speaking  the 
Greek  of  the  Syrians,  came  hither,  passed  beneath 
thy  porch  without  understanding  thee,  misread  thy 
inscriptions,  and  imagined  that  he  had  discovered 
within  thy  walls  an  altar  dedicated  to  what  he  called 
the  Unknown  God  ?  Well,  this  little  Jew  was  be- 
lieved ;  for  a  thousand  years  thou  hast  been  treated 
as  an  idol,  oh  Truth  !  for  a  thousand  years  the  world 
has  been  a  desert  in  which  no  flower  bloomed.  And 
all  this  time  thou  wert  silent,  oh  Salpinx,  clarion  of 
thought.  Goddess  of  order,  image  of  celestial  sta- 
bility, those  who  love  thee  were  regarded  as  culprits, 
and  now,  when  by  force  of  conscientious  labor  we 
have  succeeded  in  drawing  near  to  thee,  we  are 
accused  of  committing  a  crime  against  human  intel- 
ligence because  we  have  burst  the  chains  which  Plato 
knew  not. 

^^  Thou  alone  art  young,  oh  Cora ;  thou  alone  art 
pure,  oh  Virgin ;  thou  alone  art  healthy,  oh  Hygeia  ; 
thou  alone  art  strong,  oh  Victory !  Thou  keepest 
the  cities,  oh  Promachos;  thou  hast  the  blood  of 


PRAYER    ON   THE  ACROPOLIS,  5/ 

Mars  in  thee,  oh  Area ;  peace  is  thy  aim,  oh  Pacifica  ! 
Oh  Legislatress,  source  of  just  constitutions ;  oh 
Democracy,^'  thou  whose  fundamental  dogma  it  is 
that  all  good  things  come  from  the  people,  and  that 
where  there  is  no  people  to  fertilize  and  inspire 
genius  there  can  be  none,  teach  us  to  extricate  the 
diamond  from  among  the  impure  multitudes  !  Provi- 
dence of  Jupiter,  divine  worker,  mother  of  all  in- 
dustry, protectress  of  labor,  oh  Ergane,  thou  who 
ennoblest  the  labor  of  the  civilized  worker  and 
placest  him  so  far  above  the  slothful  Scythian  ;  Wis- 
dom, thou  whom  Jupiter  begot  with  a  breath;  thou 
who  dwellest  within  thy  father,  a  part  of  his  very 
essence ;  thou  who  art  his  companion  and  his  con- 
science ;  Energy  of  Zeus,  spark  which  kindles  and 
keeps  aflame  the  fire  in  heroes  and  men  of  genius, 
make  us  perfect  spiritualists  !  On  the  day  when  the 
Athenians  and  the  men  of  Rhodes  fought  for  the 
sacrifice,  thou  didst  choose  to  dwell  among  the 
Athenians  as  being  the  wisest.  But  thy  father 
caused  Plutus  to  descend  in  a  shower  of  gold  upon 
the  city  of  _the  Rhodians  because  they  had  done 
homage  to  his  daughter.  The  men  of  Rhodes  were 
rich,  but  the  Athenians  had  wit,  that  is  to  say,  the 
true  joy,  the  ever-enduring  good  humor,  the  divine, 
youth  of  the  heart. 

*  ASHNA^AHMOKPATIA'^,  Le  Bas,  I.  32nd  Inscrip. 
3* 


58  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

'^  The  only  way  of  salvation  for  the  world  is  by 
returning  to  thy  allegiance,  by  repudiating  its  bar- 
barian ties.  Let  us  hasten  into  thy  courts.  Glorious 
will  be  the  day  when  all  the  cities  which  have  stolen 
the  fragments  of  the  temple,  Venice,  Paris,  London, 
and  Copenhagen,  shall  make  good  their  larceny,  form 
holy  alliances  to  bring  these  fragments  back,  saying  : 
'  Pardon  us,  oh  Goddess,  it  was  done  to  save  them 
from  the  evil  genii  of  the  night,*  and  rebuild  thy 
walls  to  the  sound  of  the  flute,  thus  expiating  the 
crime  of  Lysander  the  infamous !  Thence  they 
shall  go  to  Sparta  and  curse  the  site  where  stood 
that  city,  mistress  of  sombre  errors,  and  insult  her 
because  she  is  no  more.  Firm  in  my  faith,  I  shall 
have  force  to  withstand  my  evil  counsellors,  my 
skepticism,  which  leads  me  to  doubt  of  the  people, 
my  restless  spirit  which,  after  truth  has  been  brought 
to  light,  impels  to  go  on  searching  for  it,  and  my 
fancy  which  cannot  be  still  even  when  Reason  has 
pronounced  her  judgment.  Oh  Archegetes,  ideal 
which  the  man  of  genius  embodies  in  his  master- 
pieces, I  would  rather  be  last  in  thy  house  than  first 
in  any  other.  Yes,  I  will  cling  to  the  stylobate  of 
thy  temple,  I  will  be  a  stylites  on  thy  columns,  my 
cell  shall  be  upon  thy  architrave  and  what  is  more 
difficult  still,  for  thy  sake  I  will  endeavor  to  be  in- 
tolerant and  prejudiced.     I  will  love  thee  alone.     I 


PRAYER   ON   THE  ACROPOLIS.  59 

will  learn  thy  tongue,  and  unlearn  all  others.  I  will 
be  unjust  for  all  that  concerns  not  thee  ;  I  will  be 
the  servant  of  the  least  of  thy  children.  I  will  exalt 
and  flatter  the  present  inhabitants  of  the  earth 
which  thou  gavest  to  Erecthea.  I  will  endeavor  to 
like  their  very  defects  ;  I  will  endeavor  to  persuade 
myself,  oh  Hippia,  that  they  are  descendants  of  the 
horsemen  who,  aloft  upon  the  marble  of  thy  frieze 
celebrate  without  ceasing  their  glad  festival.  I  will 
pluck  out  of  my  heart  every  fibre  which  is  not  reason 
and  pure  art.  I  will  try  to  love  my  bodily  ills, 
to  find  delight  in  the  flush  of  fever.  Help  me  ! 
Further  my  resolutions,  oh  Salutaris  !  Help,  thou 
who  savest ! 

"  Great  are  the  difficulties  which  I  foresee.  In- 
veterate the  habits  of  mind  which  I  shall  have  to 
change.  Many  the  delightful  recollections  which 
I  shall  have  to  pluck  out  of  my  heart.  I  will  try, 
but  I  am  not  very  confident  of  my  power.  Late  in 
life  have  I  known  thee,  oh  perfect  beauty.  I  shall 
be  beset  with  hesitations  and  temptation  to  fall 
away.  A  philosophy,  perverse  no  doubt  in  its 
teachings,  has  led  me  to  believe  that  good  and  evil, 
pleasure  and  pain,  the  beautiful  and  the  ungainly, 
reason  and  folly,  fade  into  another  by  shades  as  im- 
palpable as  those  in  a  dove's  neck.  To  feel  neither 
absolute  love  nor  absolute  hate  becomes  therefore 


6o  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY   YOUTH, 

wisdom.  If  any  one  society,  philosophy,  or  rehgion 
had  possessed  absolute  truth,  this  society,  philoso- 
phy, or  religion,  would  have  vanquished  all  the  others 
and  would  be  the  only  one  now  extant.  All  those 
who  have  hitherto  believed  themselves  to  be  right 
were  in  error,  as  we  see  very  clearly.  Can  we  with- 
out utter  presumption  believe  that  the  future  will 
not  judge  us  as  we  have  judged  the  past  ?  Such  are 
the  blasphemous  ideas  suggested  to  me  by  my  cor- 
rupt mind.  A  literature  wholesome  in  all  respects 
like  thine  would  now  be  looked  upon  as  wearisome. 

"  Thou  smilest  at  my  simplicity.  Yes,  weariness. 
We  are  corrupt ;  what  is  to  be  done  ?  I  will  go 
further,  oh  orthodox  Goddess,  and  confide  to  you 
the  inmost  depravation  of  my  heart.  •  Reason  and 
common  sense  are  not  all  satisfying.  There  is 
poetry  in  the  frozen  Strymon  and  in  the  intoxica- 
tion of  the  Thracian.  The  time  will  come  when  thy 
disciples  will  be  regarded  as  the  disciples  of  eiiittti. 
The  world  is  greater  than  thou  dost  suppose.  If 
thou  hadst  seen  the  Polar  snows  and  the  mysteries 
of  the  austral  firm.ament,  thy  forehead,  oh  Goddess, 
ever  so  calm,  would  be  less  serene  ;  thy  head  would 
be  larger  and  would  embrace  more  varied  kinds  of 
beauty. 

"  Thou  art  true,  pure,  perfect  ;  thy  marble  is 
spotless ;    but  the    temple  of    Hagia-Sophia,  which 


PRAYER^ON    THE  ACROPOLIS.  6l 

IS  at  Byzantium,  also  produces  a  divine  effect  with 
its  bricks  and  its  plaster-work.  It  is  the  image  of 
the  vault  of  heaven.  It  will  crumble,  but  if  thy 
chapel  had  to  be  large  enough  to  hold  a  large 
number  of  worshipers  it  would  crumble  also. 

"  A  vast  stream  called  Oblivion  hurries  us  down- 
ward toward  a  nameless  abyss.  Thou  art  the  only 
true  God,  oh  Abyss!  the  tears  of  all  nations  are  true 
tears  ;  the  dreams  of  all  wise  men  comprise  a  parcel 
of  truth,  all  things  here  below  are  mere  symbols 
and  dreams.  The  Gods  pass  away  like  men,  and 
it  would  not  be^  well  for  them  to  be  eternal.  The 
faith  which  we  have  felt  should  never  be  a  chain, 
and  our  obligations  to  it  are  fully  discharged  when 
we  have  carefully  enveloped  it  in  the  purple  shroud 
within  the  folds  of  which  slumber  the  Gods  that  are 
dead." 


ST.    RENAN. 

When  I  come  to  look  at  things  very  closely,  I  see 
that  I  have  changed  very  little  ;  my  destiny  had 
practically  welded  me,  from  my  earliest  youth,  to 
the  place  which  I  was  to  hold  in  the  world.  My 
vocation  was  thoroughly  matured  when  I  came  to 
Paris ;  before  leaving  Brittany  my  life  had  been 
/  mapped  out.  By  the  mere  force  of  things,  and 
I  despite  my  conscientious  efforts  to  the  contrary,  I 
was  predestined  to  become  what  I  am,  a  member  of 
the  romantic  school,  protesting  against  romanticism, 
a  Utopian  inculcating  the  doctrine  of  half-measures, 
an  idealist  unsuccessfully  attempting  to  pass  muster 
for  a  Philistine,  a  tissue  of  contradictions,  resem- 
bling the  double-natured  hircocerf  of  scholasticism. 
One  of  my  two  halves  must  have  been  busy  demol- 
ishing the  other  half,  like  the  fabled  beast  of  Ctesias 
which  unwittingly  devoured  its  own  paws.  As  was 
well  said  by  that  keen  observer,  Challemel-Lacour : 
'^  He  thinks  like  a  man,  feels  like  a  woman,  and  acts 
like  a  child.'*     I  have  no  reason  to  complain  of  such 

being  the  case,  as  this  moral  constitution  has  pro- 
62 


ST.  RENAN.  63 

cured    for   me   the    keenest   intellectual  joys  which  , 
man  can  taste. 

My  race,  my  family,  my  native  place,  and  the 
peculiar  circle  in  which  I  was  brought  up,  by 
diverting  me  from  all  material  pursuits,  and  by 
rendering  me  unfit  for  anything  except  the  treat- 
ment of  things  of  the  mind,  had  made  of  me  an 
idealist,  shut  out  from  everything  else.  The  appli- 
cation of  my  intellect  might  have  been  a  different 
one,  but  the  principle  would  have  remained  the 
same.  The  true  sign  of  a  vocation  is  the  impossi- 
bility of  getting  away  from  it :  that  is  to  say,  of  suc- 
ceeding in  anything  except  that  for  which  one  was 
created/  The  man  who  has  a  vocation  mechanically 
sacrifices  everything  to  his  dominant  task.  "  Exter- 
nal circumstances  might,  as  so  often  happens,  have 
checked  the  course  of  my  life  and  prevented  me  from 
following  my  natural  bent,  but  my  utter  incapability 
of  succeeding  in  anything  else  would  have  been  the 
protest  of  baffled  duty,  and  Predestination  would  in 
one  way  have  been  triumphant  by  proving  the  sub- 
ject of  the  experiment  to  be  powerless  outside  the 
kind  of  labor  for  which  she  had  selected  him.  I 
should  have  succeeded  in  any  variety  of  intellectual 
application  ;  I  should  have  failed  miserably  m  any 
calling  which  involved  the  pursuit  of  material  inter- 
\  ests. 


64  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

The  characteristic  feature  of  all  degrees  of  the 
Breton  race  is  its  idealism — the  endeavor  to  attain 
amoral  and  intellectual  aim,  which  is  often  erroneous 
but  always  disinterested.  There  never  was  a  race 
of  men  less  suited  for  industry  and  trade.  They  can 
be  got  to  do  anything  by  putting  them  upon  their 
honor ;  but  material  gain  is  deemed  unworthy  of 
a  man  of  spirit,  the  noblest  occupations  being  those 
which  bring  no  profit,  as  of  the  soldier,  the  sailor, 
the  priest,  the  true  gentleman  who  derives  from  his 
land  no  more  than  the  amount  sanctioned  by  long 
tradition,  the  magistrate  and  the  thinker.  These  ideas 
are  based  upon  the  theory,  an  incorrect  one  perhaps, 
that  wealth  is  only  to  be  acquired  by  taking  ad- 
vantage'of  others,  and  grinding  down  the  poor.  The 
outcome  of  these  views  is  that  the  man  of  wealth 
is  not  thought  nearly  so  much  of  as  he  who  devotes 
himself  to  the  public  welfare,  or  who  represents  the 
views  of  the  district.  The  people  have  no  patience 
with  the  idea,  very  prevalent  among  self-made  men, 
that  their  accumulation  of  wealth  confers  a  benefit 
upon  the  community.  When  in  former  times  they 
were  told  that  "the  king  sets  great  value  upon  the 
Bretons,'*  they  were  content,  and  in  his  abundance 
they  felt  themselves  rich.  Being  convinced  that 
money  gained  must  be  taken  from  some  one  else, 
they  despised  greed.    A  like  idea  of  political  economy 


ST.    RENAN.  65 

is  very  old-fashioned,  but  human  opinion  will  perhaps 
come  back  to  it  some  day.  In  the  meanwhile,  let  me 
claim  immunity  for  these  few  survivors  of  another 
world,  in  which  this  harmless  error  has  kept  alive  the 
tradition  of  self-sacrifice.  Do  not  improve  their 
worldly  lot,  for  they  would  be  none  the  happier ;  do 
not  add  to  their  wealth,  for  they  would  be  less  un- 
selfish ;  do  not  drive  them  into  the  primary  schools, 
for  they  would  perhaps  lose  some  of  their  good 
qualities  without  acquiring  those  which  culture 
bestows;  but  do  not  despise  them.  Contempt  is  the 
one  thing  which  tells  upon  those  of  simple  nature  ;  it 
either  shakes  their  faith  in  what  is  right  or  makes 
them  doubt  whether  the  better  classes  are  good 
judges  upon  this  point. 

This  disposition,  for  which  I  can  find  no  better 
name  than  moral  romanticism,  was  inherent  in  me 
from  my  birth,  and  in  some  measure  by  descent.  I 
had,  so  Code,  the  old  sorceress,  often  told  me,  been 
touched  by  some  fairy's  wand  before  my  birth.  I 
came  into  the  world  before  my  time,  and  was  so  weak 
for  two  months  that  they  did  not  think  I  should  live. 
Gode  informed  my  mother  that  she  had  an  infallible 
way  of  ascertaining  my  fate.  She  went  one  morning 
with  one  of  the  little  shifts  which  I  wore  to  the 
sacred  lake,  and  returned  in  high  glee,  exclaiming : 
*'  He  means  to  live  !     No  sooner  had  I  thrown  the 


66  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

little  shift  on  to  the  surface  than  it  Hfted  itself  up." 
In  later  years  she  used  often  to  say  to  me  with  much 
animation  of  feature  :  ''  Ah !  if  you  had  seen  how 
the  two  arms  stretched  themselves  out.'*  The  fairies 
were  attached  to  me  from  my  childhood,  and  I  was 
very  fond  of  them.  You  must  not  laugh  at  us  Celts. 
We  shall  never  build  a  Parthenon,  for  we  have  not  the 
marble  ;  but  we  are  skilled  in  reading  the  heart  and 
soul ;  we  have  a  secret  of  our  own  for  inserting  the 
probe ;  we  bury  our  hands  in  the  entrails  of  a  man, 
and,  like  the  witches  in  Macbeth,  withdraw  them  full 
of  the  secrets  of  infinity.  The  great  secret  of  our 
art  is  that  we  can  make  our  very  failing  appear 
attractive.  The  Breton  race  has  in  its  heart  an  ever- 
lasting source  of  folly.  The  "  fairy  kingdom,"  which 
is  the  most  beautiful  on  earth,  is  its  true  domain. 
The  Breton  race  alone  can  comply  with  the  strange 
conditions  exacted  by  the  fairy  Gloriande  from  all 
who  seek  to  enter  her  realm  ;  the  horn  which  will  give 
no  sound  except  when  touched  by  lips  that  are  pure, 
the  magic  cup  which  is  filled  only  for  the  faithful 
lover,  are  our  special  appurtenances. 

Religion  is  the  form  behind  which  the  Celtic  races 
disguise  their  love  of  the  ideal,  but  it  would  be  a 
mistake  to  imagine  that  religion  is  to  them  a  tie  or 
a  servitude.  No  race  has  a  greater  independence  of 
sentiment  in  religion.     It  was  not  until  the  twelfth 


ST.  RENAN,  67 

century,  and  owing  to  the  support  which  the  Nor- 
mans of  France  gave  to  the  See  of  Rome,  that 
Breton  Christianity  was  unmistakably  brought  into 
the  current  of  CathoHcism.  It  would  have  taken 
very  little  for  the  Bretons  of  France  to  have  become 
Protestant  like  their  brethren  the  Welsh  in  England. 
In  the  seventeenth  century  French  Brittany  was 
completely  permeated  by  Jesuitical  customs  and  by 
the  modes  of  piety  common  to  the  rest  of  the 
world.  Up  to  that  time  the  religion  of  the  country 
had  had  features  of  its  own,  its  special  characteristic 
being  the  worship  of  saints.  Among  the  many 
peculiarities  for  which  Brittany  is  noteworthy,  its 
local  hagiography  is  assuredly  the  most  remarkable. 
Going  through  the  country  on  foot  there  is  one 
thing  which  immediately  strikes  the  observer.  The 
parish  churches,  in  which  the  Sunday  services  are 
held,  do  not  differ  in  the  main  from  those  of  other 
countries.  But  in  country  districts  it  is  no  uncom- 
mon thing  to  find  as  many  as  ten  or  fifteen  chapels 
in  a  single  parish,  most  of  them  little  huts  with  a 
single  door  and  window,  and  dedicated  to  some  saint 
unknown  to  the  rest  of  Christendom.  These  local 
saints,  who  are  to  be  counted  by  the  hundred,  all 
date  from  the  fifth  or  the  sixth  century ;  that  is  to 
say,  from  the  period  of  the  emigration.  Most  of 
them  are  persons  who  have  really  existed,  but  who 


68  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH, 

have  been  wrapped  by  tradition  in  a  very  brilliant 
network  of  fable.  These  fables,  which  are  of  the 
most  primitive  simplicity  and  form  a  complete 
treasure  of  Celtic  mythology  and  popular  fancies, 
have  never  been  reduced  to  writing  in  their  entirety. 
The  instructive  compilations  made  by  the  Benedic- 
tines and  the  Jesuits,  even  the  candid  and  curious 
work  of  Albert  Legrand,  a  Dominican  of  Morlaix, 
reproduce  but  a  very  small  fraction  of  them.  So  far 
from  encouraging  these  antique  forms  of  popular 
worship,  the  clergy  only  just  tolerate  them,  and 
would  suppress  them  altogether  if  they  could,  feel- 
ing that  they  are  the  survivals  of  another  and  a 
much  less  orthodox  age.  They  consent  to  say  mass 
once  a  year  in  these  chapels,  as  the  saints  to  whom 
they  are  dedicated  have  too  great  a  hold  in  the 
country  to  be  dislodged,  but  they  say  nothing 
about  them  in  the  parish  church.  The  clergy  let 
the  people  visit  these  little  sanctuaries  of  the  an- 
tique rite,  to  seek  in  them  the  cure  for  certain  com- 
plaints, and  to  worship  there  after  their  own  way ; 
they  pretend  to  be  blind  to  all  this.  Where,  then, 
it  may  be  asked,  lies  concealed  the  treasure  of  all 
these  old  stories  ?  Why,  in  the  memory  of  the 
people?  Go  from  chapel  to  chapel,  get  the  good 
people  who  attend  them  into  conversation,  and  if 
they  think   they  can  trust  you    they  will  tell  you 


ST.  RENAN,  69 

with  a  mixture  of  seriousness  and  pleasantry  won- 
derful stories,  from  which  comparative  mythology 
and  history  will  one  day  reap  a  rich  harvest/'' 

These  stories  had  from  the  first  a  very  great 
influence  upon  my  imagination.  The  chapels  which 
I  have  spoken  of  are  always  solitary,  and  stand  by 
themselves  amid  the  desolate  moors  or  barren 
rocks.  The  wind  whistling  amid  the  heather  and 
the  stunted  vegetation  thrilled  me  with  terror,  and 
I  often  used  to  take  to  my  heels,  thinking  that  the 
spirits  of  the  past  were  pursuing  me.  At  other 
times  I  would  look  through  the  half  ruined  door  of 
the  chapel  at  the  stained  glass  or  the  statuettes  of 
painted  wood  which  stood  on  the  altar.  These 
plunged  me  in  endless  reveries.  The  strange  and 
terrible  physiognomy  of  these  saints,  more  Druid 
than  Christian,  savage  and  vindictive,  pursued  me 
like  a  nightmare.  Saints  though  they  were,  they 
were  none  the  less  subject  to  very  strange  weak- 
nesses. Gregory,  of  Tours,  has  told  us  the  story  of 
a  certain  Winnoch,  who  passed  through  Tours  on 
his  way  to  Jerusalem,  his  only  covering  being  some 
sheep  skins  with  their  wool  taken  off.     He  seemed 

*  A  conscientious  and  painstaking  student,  M.  Luzel,  will,  I  hope, 
be  the  Pausanias  of  these  little  local  chapels,  and  will  commit  to 
writing  the  whole  of  this  magnificent  legend,  which  is  upon  the  point 
of  being  lost. 


70  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

SO  pious  that  they  kept  him  there  and  made  a  priest 
of  him.  He  made  wild  herbs  his  sole  food,  and 
raised  the  wine  flagon  to  his  lips  in  such  a  way  that 
it  seemed  as  if  he  scarcely  moistened  his  lips.  But 
as  the  liberality  of  the  devout  provided  him  with 
large  quantities  of  it  he  got  into  the  habit  of  drink- 
ing, and  was  several  times  observed  to  be  overcome 
by  his  potations.  The  devil  gained  such  a  hold  over 
him  that,  armed  with  knives,  sticks,  stones,  and 
whatever  else  he  could  get  hold  of,  he  ran  after  the 
people  in  the  streets.  It  was  found  necessary  to 
chain  him  up  in  his  cell.  None  the  less  was  he  a 
saint.  St.  Cadoc,  St.  Iltud,  St.  Conery,  St.  Renan 
(or  Ronan),  appeared  to  me  as  giants.  In  after 
years,  when  I  had  come  to  know  India,  I  saw  that 
my  saints  were  true  Richis,  and  that  through  them  I 
had  become  familiarized  with  the  most  primitive 
features  of  our  Aryan  world,  with  the  idea  of  soli- 
tary masters  of  nature,  asserting  their  power  over  it 
by  asceticism  and  the  force  of  the  will. 

The  last  of  the  saints  whom  I  have  mentioned 
naturally  attracted  my  attention  more  than  any 
of  the  others,  as  his  name  was  the  same  as  that 
by   which    I   was   known.'"     There    is    not    a   more 

*  The  ancient  form  of  the  word  is  Ronan,  which  is  still  to  be  found 
in  the  names  of  places,  Loc  Ronan,  the  well  of  St.  Ronan  (Wales). 


ST.  REMAN,  71 

original  figure  among  all  the  saints  of  Brittany. 
The  story  of  his  life  has  been  told  to  me  two  or  three 
times,  and  each  time  with  more  extraordinary  details. 
He  lived  in  Cornwall,  near  the  little  town  which  bear? 
his  name  (St.  Renan).  He  was  more  a  spirit  of  the 
earth  than  a  saint,  and  his  power  over  the  elements 
was  illimitable.  He  was  of  a  violent  and  rather 
erratic  temperament,  and  there  was  no  telling  before- 
hand as  to  what  he  would  do.  He  was  much 
respected,  but  his  stubborn  resolve  to  take  m  all 
things  his  own  course  caused  him  to  be  regarded 
with  no  little  fear,  and  when  he  was  found  one  day 
lying  dead  on  the  floor  of  his  hut  there  was  a  feeling 
of  consternation  in  the  country.  The  first  person 
who,  when  looking  in  at  the  window  as  he  went  by, 
saw  him  in  this  position,  took  to  his  heels.  He  had 
been  so  self-willed  and  peculiar  in  his  lifetime  that  no 
one  ventured  to  guess  as  to  how  he  might  wish  to 
have  his  body  disposed  of.  It  was  feared  that  if  his 
wishes  were  incorrectly  interpreted,  he  would  punish 
them  by  sending  the  plague,  or  having  the  town 
swallowed  up  by  an  earthquake,  or  by  converting  the 
country  around  into  a  marsh.  Nor  would  it  be  wise 
to  take  his  body  to  the  parish  church,  as  he  had 
sometimes  shown  an  aversion  from  it. 

He   might,    perhaps,   create    a   scandal.     All   the 
principal    inhabitants  were   assembled    in   the    cell, 


72  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

with  his  stark  black  corpse  in  their  midst,  when  one 
of  them  made  the  following  sensible  suggestion : 
"  We  never  could  understand  him  when  he  was 
alive  ;  it  was  easier  to  trace  the  flight  of  the  swallow 
than  to  guess  at  his  thoughts.  Now  that  he  is  dead, 
let  him  still  follow  his  own  fancy.  We  will  cut  down 
a  few  trees,  make  a  wagon  of  them,  and  harness  four 
oxen  to  it.  Then  he  can  let  them  take  him  to 
the  place  where  he  wishes  to  be  buried.'*  This 
was  done,  and  the  body  of  the  saint  deposited  on 
the  vehicle.  The  oxen,  guided  by  the  invisible  hand 
of  Ronan,  went  in  a  straight  line  into  the  thick  of 
the  forest,  the  trees  bent  or  broke  beneath  their  steps 
with  an  awful  crackling  sound.  The  wagon  stopped 
in  the  centre  of  the  forest,  just  where  the  largest 
of  the  oaks  reared  their  head.  The  hint  was  taken, 
and  the  saint  was  buried  there  and  a  church  erected 
to  his  memory. 

Tales  of  this  kind  inspired  me  early  in  life  with  a 
love  of  mythology.  The  simplicity  of  spirit  with 
which  they  were  accepted  carried  one  back  to  the 
early  ages  of  the  world.  Take,  for  instance,  the  way 
in  which,  as  I  was  taught  to  believe,  my  father  was 
cured  of  fever  when  a  child.  Before  daybreak  he  was 
taken  to  the  chapel  of  the  saint  who  exercised  the 
healing  power.  A  blacksmith  arrived  at  the  same 
time  with  his  forge,  nails,  and  tongs.     He  lighted  his 


ST.  RENAN.  73 

fire,  made  his  tongs  red  hot,  and  held  them  before 
the  face  of  the  saint,  threatening  to  shoe  him  as 
he  would  a  horse  unless  he  cured  the  child  of  his 
fever.  The  threat  took  immediate  effect,  and  my 
father  was  cured.  Wood-carving  has  long  been  in 
great  favor  in  Brittany.  The  statues  of  these  saints 
are  extraordinarily  life-like,  and  in  the  eyes  of  people 
of  vivid  imagination  they  may  well  seem  to  be  actually 
alive.  I  remember  in  particular  one  good  man,  who 
was  not  more  daft  than  the  rest,  who  always  made 
off  to  the  churches  in  the  evening  when  he  got  the 
chance.  The  next  morning  he  was  invariably  found 
in  the  building,  half  dead  with  fatigue.  He  had 
spent  the  whole  night  in  detaching  the  figures  of 
Christ  from  the  crosses  and  drawing  the  arrows  out  of 
the  bodies  of  St.  Sebastian. 

My  mother,  who  was  a  Gascon  on  one  side  (her 
father  was  a  native  of  Bordeaux),  told  these  anecdotes 
with  much  wit  and  tact,  passing  deftly  between  what 
was  real  and  what  was  fanciful,  so  as  to  leave  the 
impression  that  these  things  were  only  true  from 
an  ideal  point  of  view.  She  clung  to  these  fables 
as  a  Breton  ;  as  a  Gascon  she  was  inclined  to  laugh 
-  at  them,  and  this  was  the  secret  of  the  sprightliness 
and  gayety  of*  her  life.  This  state  of  things  has 
been  the  means  of  giving  me  what  little  talent  I 
may  have   for  historical  studies.      I    have    derived 


74  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

from  it  a  kind  of  habit  of  looking  below  the  surface 
and  hearing  sounds  which  other  ears  do  not  catch. 
The_essence„  of  criticism  is  to  be  able  to^rpalize 
xonditionsdifferent  from  those  under  which  we  are 
UQwJivdng^  I  have  been  in  actual  contact  with  the 
primitive  ages.  The  most  remote  past  was  still  in 
existence  in  Brittany  up  to  1830.  The  world  of  the 
fourteenth  and  fifteenth  centuries  passed  daily  before 
the  eyes  of  those  who  lived  in  the  towns.  The  epoch 
of  the  Welsh  emigration  (the  fifth  and  the  sixth 
centuries)  was  plainly  visible  in  the  country  to  the 
practised  eye.  Paganism  was  still  to  be  detected 
beneath  a  layer,  often  so  thin  as  to  be  transparent, 
of  Christianity,  and  with  the  former  were  mixed  up 
traces  of  a  still  more  ancient  world  which  I  after- 
ward came  upon  again  among  the  Laplanders. 
When  visiting,  in  1870,  with  Prince  Napoleon,  the 
huts  of  a  Laplander  encampment  near  Tromsoe,  I 
felt  some  of  my  earliest  recollections  live  again  in 
the  features  of  several  women  and  children  and  in 
certain  customs  and  traits  of  character.  It  occurred 
to  me  that  in  ancient  times  there  might  have  been 
admixtures  between  the  lost  branches  of  the  Celtic 
race  and  races  like  the  Laplanders  which  covered  the 
soil  upon  their  arrival.  My  ethnical  position  would 
in  this  case  be  :  "A  Celt  crossed  with  Gascon  with 
a  slight    infusion   of    Laplander   blood."      Such   a 


ST.  RENAN.  75 

condition  of  things  ought,  if  I  am  not  mistaken, 
according  to  the  theories  of  the  anthropologists,  to 
represent  the  maximum  of  idiocy  and  imbecihty  ;  but 
the  decrees  of  anthropology  are  only  relative  :  what  it 
treats  as  stupidity  among  the  ancient  races  of  men 
is  often  neither  more  nor  less  than  an  extraordinary 
force  of  enthusiasm  and  intuition. 


MY   UNCLE    PIERRE. 

Everything,  therefore,  predisposed  me  toward 
romanticism,  not  in  form,  for  I  was  not  long  in  under- 
standing that  this  is  a  mistake,  that  though  there 
may  be  two  modes  of  feehng  and  thinking  there  can 
be  but  one  form  of  expressing  these  feehngs  and 
thoughts — but  toward  romanticism  of  the  mind  and 
imagination,  toward  the  pure  ideal.  I  was  an 
offshoot  from  the  old  idealist  race  of  the  most 
genuine  growth.  There  is  in  the  district  of  Goelo 
or  of  Avangour,  on  the  Trieux,  a  place  called  the 
Ledano,  because  it  is  there  that  the  Trieux  opens  out 
and  forms  a  lagoon  before  running  into  the  sea.  Upon 
the  shore  of  the  Ledano  there  is  a  large  farm  called 
Keranbelec  or  Meskanbelec.  This  was  the  head- 
quarters of  the  Renans,  who  came  there  from  Cardi- 
gan about  the  year  480,  under  the  leadership  of 
Fragan.  They  led  there  for  thirteen  hundred  years 
an  obscure  existence,  storing  up  sensations  and 
thoughts  the  capital  of  which  has  devolved  upon  me. 
I  can  feel  that  I  think  for  them  and  that  they  live 
again  in  me.     Not  one  of  them  attempted  to  hoard, 

76 


MV  UNCLE  PIERRE.  JJ 

and  the  consequence  was  that  they  all  remained  poor. 
My  absolute  inability  to  be  resentful  or  to  appear  so  is 
inherited  from  them.  The  only  two  kinds  of  occupa- 
tion which  they  knew  anything  of  were  to  till  the 
land  or  to  steer  a  boat  on  the  estuaries  and  archi- 
pelagos of  rocks  which  the  Trieux  forms  at  its 
mouth.  A  short  time  previous  to  the  Revolution, 
three  of  them  rigged  out  a  bark,  and  settled  at 
Lezardrieux.  They  lived  together  on  the  bark, 
which  was  for  the  best  part  of  her  time  laid  up  in 
a  creek  of  the  Ledano,  and  they  sailed  her  when 
the  fit  took  them.  They  could  not  be  classed  as 
bourgeois,  for  they  were  not  jealous  of  the  nobles : 
they  were  well-to-do  sailors,  independent  of  every  one. 
My  grandfather,  one  of  the  three,  took  another  step 
toward  town  life ;  he  came  to  live  at  Treguier. 
When  the  Revolution  broke  out  he  showed  himself 
to  be  a  sincere  but  honorable  patriot.  He  had  some 
little  money,  but,  unlike  all  others  in  the  same 
position  as  himself,  he  would  not  buy  any  of  the 
national  property,  holding  that  this  property  had 
been  ill-gotten.  He  did  not  think  it  honorable  to 
make  large  profits  without  labor.  The  events  of 
1 8 14-15  drove  him  half  mad. 

Hegel  had  not  as  yet  discovered  that  might  im- 
plies right,  and  in  any  event  he  would  have  found  it 
difficult  to  believe  that  France  had  been  victorious  at 


78  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

Waterloo.  The  privilege  of  these  charming  theories, 
of  which  by  the  way  I  have  had  rather  too  much, 
was  reserved  for  me.  On  the  evening  of  March  19th, 
181 5,  he  came  to  see  my  mother  and  told  her  to  get 
up  early  the  next  morning  and  look  at  the  tower. 
And  surely  enough  he  and  several  other  patriots 
had  during  the  night  upon  the  refusal  of  the  clerk  to 
^\w^  them  the  keys,  clambered  up  the  outside  of  the 
steeple  at  the  risk  of  breaking  their  necks  a  dozen 
times  over  and  hoisted  the  national  flag.  A  few 
months  later,  when  the  opposite  cause  was  triumphant, 
he  literally  lost  his  senses.  He  would  go  about  in  the 
street  with  an  enormous  tricolor  cockade,  exclaim- 
ing: "I  should  like  to  see  any  one  come  and  take 
this  away  from  me,"  and  as  he  was  a  general  favorite 
people  used  to  answer :  "  Why,  no  one,  Captain." 
My  father  shared  the  same  sentiments.  Taken  by 
the  English  while  serving  under  Admiral  Villaret- 
Joyeuse,  he  passed  several  years  on  the  pontoons. 
His  great  delight  was  to  go  each  year,  when  the 
conscription  was  drawn,  and  humiliate  the  recruits  by 
relating  his  experiences  as  a  volunteer.  Regarding 
with  contempt  those  who  were  drawing  lots,  he  would 
add:  "We  used  not  to  act  in  this  way,"  and  he 
would  shrug  his  shoulders  over  the  degeneracy  of 
the  age. 

It  is  from  what  I  have  seen  of   these  excellent 


MV   UNCLE  PIERRE.  79 

sailors,  and  from  what  I  have  read  and  heard  about 
the  peasants  of  Lithuania,  and  even  of  Poland,  that 
I  have  derived  my  ideas  as  to  the  innate  goodness 
of  our  races  when  they  are  organized  after  the  type 
of  the  primitive  clan.  It  is  impossible  to  give  an 
idea  of  how  much  goodness  and  even  politeness 
and  gentle  manners  there  is  in  these  ancient  Celts. 
I  saw  the  last  traces  of  it  some  thirty  years  ago  in 
the  beautiful  little  island  of  Brehat,  with  its  patri- 
archal ways  which  carried  one  back  to  the  time  of  the 
Pheacians.  The  unselfishness  and  the  practical  in- 
capacity of  these  good  people  were  beyond  concep- 
tion. One  proof  of  their  nobility  was  that  when- 
ever they  attempted  to  engage  in  any  commercial 
business  they  were  defrauded.  Never  in  the  world's 
history  did  people  ruin  themselves  with  a  lighter 
or  more  careless  heart,  keeping  up  a  running  fire  of 
paradox  and  quips.  Never  m  the  world  were  the 
laws  of  common  sense  and  sound  economy  more 
joyously  trodden  under  foot.  I  asked  my  mother, 
toward  the  close  of  her  life,  whether  it  was  really 
the  case  that  all  the  members  of  our  family  whom 
she  had  known  were  upon  as  bad  terms  with  fortune 
as  those  whom  I  could  remember. 

"  All  as  poor  as  Job,"  she  answered  me.  "  How 
could  it  be  different  ?  None  of  them  were  born  rich, 
and  none  of  them  pillaged  their  neighbors.     Indiose 


80  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

days  the  only  rich  people  were  the  clergy  and  the 
nobles.     There  is,  however,  one  exception,  I  mean 

A ,   who    became    a   millionaire.     Oh !  he    is   a 

very  respectable  person,  very  nearly  a  member  of 
parliament,  and  quite  likely  to  become  one.** 

'^  How  did  A contrive  to  make  such  a  large 

fortune  while  all  his  neighbors  remained  poor  ?  '* 

"  I  pannot  tell  you  that.  .  .  .  There  are  some 
people  who  are  born  to  be  rich,  while  there  are  others 
who  never  would  be  so.  The  former  have  claws,  and 
do  not  scruple  to  help  themselves  first.  That  is  just 
what  we  have  never  been  able  to  do.  When  it  comes 
to  taking  the  best  piece  out  of  the  dish  which  is 
handed  around  our  natural  politeness  stands  in  our 
way.  None  of  your  ancestors  could  make  money. 
They  took  nothing  from  the  general  mass,  and  would 
not  impoverish  their  neighbors.  Your  grandfather 
would  not  buy  any  of  the  national  property,  as  others 
did.  Your  father  was  like  all  other  sailors,  and  the 
proof  that  he  was  born  to  be  a  sailor  and  to  fight  was 
that  he  had  no  head  for  business.  When  you  were 
born  we  were  in  such  a  bad  way  that  I  took  you  on 
my  knees  and  cried  bitterly.  You  see  that  sailors 
are  not  like  the  rest  of  the  world.  I  have  knov/n 
many  who  entered  upon  a  term  of  service  with  a 
good  round  sum  of  money  in  their  possession.  They 
would  heat  the   silver  pieces  in  a   frying-pan  and 


MY   UNCLE   PIERRE.  8 1 

throw  them  into  the  street,  splitting  their  sides  with 
laughter  at  the  crowd  which  scrambled  for  them. 
This  was  meant  to  show  that  it  was  not  for  mer- 
cenary motives  that  they  were  ready  to  risk  their 
lives,  and  that  honor  and  duty  cannot  be  posted  in  a 
ledger.  And  then  there  was  your  poor  uncle  Peter. 
I  cannot  tell  you  what  trouble  he  used  to  give  me.** 

"Tell  me  about  him,"  I  said,  "for  somehow  or 
other  I  like  him  very  much." 

"  You  saw  him  once  ;  he  met  us  near  the  bridge, 
and  he  lifted  his  hat  to  you,  but  you  were  too 
much  respected  in  the  neighborhood  for  him  to 
venture  to  speak  to  you,  though  I  did  not  like  to 
tell  you  so.  He  was  one  of  the  best-natured  creat- 
ures in  existence,  but  he  could  never  be  got  to 
apply  himself  to  work.  He  was  always  lounging 
about,  passing  the  best  part  of  the  day  and  night  in 
taverns.  He  was  honest  and  good-hearted  withal, 
but  there  was  no  getting  him  to  follow  any  trade. 
You  have  no  idea  how  agreeable  he  was  until  the 
life  he  led  had  exhausted  him.  He  was  a  universal 
favorite,  and  with  his  inexhaustible  stock  of  tales, 
proverbs,  and  funny  stories,  he  was  welcome  every- 
where. He  was  very  well  read,  too,  and  by  no  means 
devoid  of  learning.  He  was  the  oracle  of  the  taverns, 
and  was  the  life  and  soul  of  any  party  at  which  he 
might  be  present.      He  effected  a   regular  literary 


82  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

revolution.  Heretofore  the  only  books  which  people 
cared  for  were  the  Quatre  Fils  d'Aymon  and  Renaiid 
de  Moiitauban,  All  these  ancient  characters  were 
familiar  to  us,  and  each  of  us  had  his  or  her  favor- 
ite hero,  but  Peter  taught  us  more  modern  tales 
which  he  took  from  books,  but  which  he  remodeled 
to  suit  the  local  taste. 

We  had  at  that  time  a  pretty  good  library.  When 
the  mission  fathers  came  to  Treguier,  during  the 
reign  of  Charles  X.,  the  preacher  delivered  such  an 
eloquent  sermon  against  dangerous  books  that  we 
all  of  us  burnt  any  such  volumes  as  we  had.  The 
missionary  had  told  us  that  it  was  better  to  burn 
too  many  than  too  few,  and  that,  for  the  matter  of 
that,  all  books  might  under  certain  conditions  be 
dangerous.  I  did  like  the  rest  of  the  people,  but 
your  father  put  several  upon  the  top  of  the  large 
wardrobe,  saying  that  they  were  too  handsome  to  be 
burnt ;  they  were  Don  Quickotte,  Gil  Bias,  and  the 
Diable  Boiteux,  Peter  found  them  there,  and  would 
read  them  to  the  common  people  and  to  the  men 
employed  in  the  port.  And  so  the  whole  of  our 
library  disappeared.  In  this  way  he  spent  the 
modest  little  fortune  which  he  possessed,  and  became 
a  regular  vagabond,  though  in  spite,  of  this  he  re- 
mained kind  and  generous,  incapable  of  harming  a 
worm." 


MY   UNCLE   PIERRE.  83 

"  But/*  I  rejoined,  ''  why  did  not  his  friends  send 
him  to  sea  ?  that  would  have  made  him  more  regular 
in  his  ways." 

"  That  could  never  have  been,  for  he  was  so 
popular  that  all  his  friends  would  have  run  after 
him  and  fetched  him  back.  You  have  no  idea  how 
full  of  fun  he  was.  Poor  Peter !  with  all  his  faults 
I  could  not  help  liking  him,  for  he  was  charming  at 
times.  He  could  set  you  off  into  a  fit  of  laughter 
with  a  word.  He  had  a  knack  of  his  own  for  spring- 
ing a  joke  upon  you  in  the  most  unexpected  way. 
I  shall  never  forget  the  evening  when  they  came  to 
tell  me  that  he  had  been  found  dead  on  the  road  to 
Langoat.  I  went  and  had  him  properly  laid  out. 
He  was  buried,  and  the  priest  spoke  in  consoling 
terms  about  the  death  of  these  poor  waifs  whose 
heart  is  not  always  so  far  from  God  as  some  people 
may  imagine.'* 

Poor  Uncle  Pierre ;  I  have  often  thought  of 
him.  This  tardy  esteem  will  be  his  sole  recompense. 
The  metaphysical  paradise  would  be  no  place  for 
him.  His  lively  imagination,  his  high  spirits,  and 
his  keen  sense  of  enjoyment  constituted  him  for  a 
distinct  individualism  in  his  own  sphere.  My  father's 
character  was  just  the  opposite,  for  he  was  inclined 
to  be  sentimental  and  melancholy.  It  was  when 
he    was    advanced    in   years   and   upon    his    return 


84  RECOLLECTIONS   OE  MY    YOUTH, 

from  a  long  voyage  that  he  gave  me  birth.  In  the 
early  dawn  of  my  existence  I  felt  the  cold  sea 
mist,  shivered  under  the  cutting  morning  blast  and 
passed  my  bitter  and  gloomy  watch  on  the  quarter- 
deck. 


GOOD  MASTER  SYSTEME. 

PART  I. 

I  WAS  related  on  my  maternal  grandmother's  side 
to  a  much  more  prim  class  of  people.  My  grand- 
mother was  a  very  good  specimen  of  the  middle 
classes  of  former  days.  She  had  been  excessively 
pretty.  I  can  remember  her  toward  the  close  of 
her  life,  and  she  was  always  dressed  in  the  fashion 
which  prevailed  at  the  time  of  her  being  left  a  widow. 
She  was  very  particular  about  her  class,  never  altered 
her  head-dress,  and  would  not  allow  herself  to  be 
addressed  except  as  ^^  Mademoiselle."  The  ladies  of 
noble  birth  had  a  great  respect  for  her.  When  they 
met  my  sister  Henrietta  they  used  to  kiss  her  and 
say,  *^  My  dear,  your  grandmother  was  a  very  respect- 
able person,  we  were  very  fond  of  her.  Try  to  be 
like  her.'*  And  as  it  happened  my  sister  did  like 
her  very  much  and  took  her  as  a  pattern,  but  my 
mother,  always  laughing  and  full  of  wit,  differed  from 
her  very  much.  Mother  and  daughter  were  in  all 
respects  a  marked  contrast. 

85 


86  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

The  worthy  burghers  of  Lannion  and  their  famihes 
were  models  of  simpHcity,  honor,  and  respectabihty. 
Several  of  my  aunts  never  married,  but  they  were 
very  light-spirited  and  cheerful,  thanks  to  the  inno- 
cence of  their  hearts.  Families  dwelt  together  m 
unity,  animated  by  the  same  simple  faith.  My  aunts' 
sole  amusement  on  Sundays  after  mass  was  to  send 
a  feather  up  into  the  air,  each  blowing  at  it  in  turn 
to  prevent  it  from  falling  to  the  ground.  This 
afforded  them  amusement  enough  to  last  until  the 
following  Sunday.  The  piety  of  my  grandmother, 
her  urbanity,  her  regard  for  the  established  order  of 
things  are  graven  in  my  heart  as  the  best  pictures  of 
that  old-fashioned  society  based  upon  God  and  the 
king — two  props  for  which  it  may  not  be  easy  to  find 
substitutes. 

When  the  Revolution  broke  out  my  grandmother 
was  horror-struck,  and  she  took  the  lead  with  so 
many  other  pious  persons  in  hiding  the  priests  who 
had  refused  to  take  the  oath  of  fidelity  to  the  Con- 
stitution. Mass  was  celebrated  in  her  drawing-room; 
and  as  the  ladies  of  the  nobility  had  emigrated  she 
thought  it  her  duty  to  take  their  place.  Most  of 
my  uncles,  on  the  other  hand,  were  ardent  patriots. 
When  any  public  misfortune  occurred,  such,  for 
instance,  as  the  treason  of  Dumouriez,  my  uncles 
allowed  their  beards  to  grow  and  went  about  with 


GOOD  MASTER   SYSTEME.  8/ 

long  faces,  flowing  cravats,  and  untidy  garments. 
My  grandmother  would  at  these  times  indulge  m 
deHcate  but  rather  risky  satire.  "  My  dear  Tanne- 
guy,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  Has  any  trouble 
befallen  us?  Has  anything  happened  to  Cousin 
Am^lie?  Is  my  Aunt  Augustine's  asthma  worse?  " 
— "  No,  cousin,  the  Republic  is  in  danger." — "  Oh, 
IS  that  all,  my  dear  Tanneguy  ?  I  am  so  glad  to 
hear  you  say  so.  You  quite  relieve  me."  V^hus  she 
sported  for  two  years  with  the  guillotine,  and  it  is  a 
wonder  that  she  escaped  it.  A  lady  named  Taupin, 
pious  like  herself,  was  associated  with  her  in  these 
good  works.  The  priests  were  sheltered  by  turns  in 
her  house  and  in  that  of  Madame  Taupin.  My 
uncle  Y ,  a  very  sturdy  Revolutionist,  but  a  good- 
hearted  man  at  bottom,  often  said  to  her :  "  My 
cousin,  if  it  came  to  my  knowledge  that  there  were 
priests  or  aristocrats  concealed  m  your  house,  I 
should  be  obliged  to  denounce  you."  She  always 
used  to  reply  that  her  only  acquaintances  were  true 
friends  of  the  Republic  and  no  mistake  about  it. 

So  it  was  that  Madame  Taupin  was  the  one  to  be 
guillotined.  My  mother  never  related  this  incident 
to  me  without  being  very  deeply  moved.  She 
showed  me  w^hen  I  was  a  child  the  spot  where  the 
tragedy  was  enacted.  Upon  the  day  of  the  execu- 
tion, my  grandmother  went,  with  all  her  family,  out 


88  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

of  Lannion,  so  as  not  to  participate  in  the  crime 
which  was  about  to  be  committed.  She  went  before 
daybreak  to  a  chapel,  situated  rather  more  than  a 
mile  from  the  town  in  a  retired  spot  and  dedicated 
to  St.  Roch.  Several  pious  persons  had  arranged 
to  meet  there,  and  a  signal  was  to  let  them  know 
just  when  the  knife  was  about  to  drop  so  that  they 
might  all  be  in  prayer  when  the  soul  of  the  martyr 
was  brought  by  the  angels  before  the  throne  of  the 
Most  High. 

All  this  bound  people  together  more  closely  than 
we  can  form  any  idea  of.  My  grandmother  loved 
the  priests  and  believed  in  their  courage  and  devotion 
to  duty.  She  was  destined  to  meet  with  a  very  cool 
reception  from  one  of  them.  When  during  the 
Consulate  religioiis  worship  was  re-established,  the 
priest  whom  she  had  sheltered  at  the  risk  of  her  life 
was  appointed  incumbent  of  a  parish  near  Lannion. 
She  took  my  mother,  then  quite  a  child,  with  her, 
and  they  walked  the  five  miles  under  a  scorching 
sun.  The  thought  of  meeting  again  one  whom  she 
had  seen  keeping  the  night  watch  at  her  house  under 
such  tragical  circumstances  made  her  heart  beat  fast. 
The  priest,  whether  from  sacerdotal  pride  or  from  a 
feeling  of  duty,  behaved  in  a  very  strange  manner. 
He  scarcely  seemed  to  recognize  her,  never  asked 
her  to  be  seated,  and  dismissed  her  with  a  few  short 


GOOD  MASTER   SYSTEME.  89 

remarks.  Not  a  word  of  thanks  or  an  allusion  to 
the  past.  He  did  not  even  offer  her  a  glass  of  water. 
My  grandmother  could  scarcely  keep  from  fainting ; 
and  she  returned  to  Lannion  in  tears,  whether 
because  she  reproached  herself  for  some  feminine 
error  of  the  heart  or  because  she  was  hurt  by  so  ~ 
much  pride.  My  mother  never  knew  whether  in 
after  years  she  looked  back  to  this  incident  with  the 
more  of  injured  pride  or  of  admiration.  Perhaps 
she  came  at  last  to  recognize  the  infinite  wisdom  of 
the  priest,  wbo  seemed  to  say  to  her,  ^'  Woman, 
what  have  I  to  do  with  thee  ?  "  and  who  would  not 
adrnit  that  he  had  any  reason  to  be  grateful  to  her. 
It  is  difficult  for  women  to  comprehend  this  abstract 
feeling.  Their  work,  whatever  it  may  be,  has  always 
a  personal  object  in  view,  and  it  would  be  hard  to 
make  them  believe  it  natural  that  people  should 
fight  shoulder  to  shoulder  without  knowing  and 
liking  one  another. 

My  mother,  with  her  frank,  cheerful,  and  inquisi- 
tive ways,  was  rather  partial  to  the  Revolution  than 
the  reverse.  Unbeknown  to  my  grandmother  she 
used  to  go  and  hear  the  patriotic  songs.  The  Chant 
du  Depart  made  a  great  impression  upon  her,  and 
when  she  repeated  the  stirring  line  put  in  the  mouth 
of  the  mothers, 

"  De  nos  yeux  maternels  ne  craignez  point  de  larmes," 


90  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

her  voice  was  always  broken.  These  stirring  and 
terrible  scenes  had  imprinted  themselves  forever 
upon  her  mind.  When  she  began  to  go  back  over 
these  recollections,  indissolubly  bound  up  with  the 
days  of  her  girlhood,  when  she  remembered  how 
enthusiasm  and  wild  delight  alternated  with  scenes 
of  terror,  her  whole  life  seemed  to  rise  up  before  her. 
I  learnt  from  her  to  be  so  proud  of  the  Revolution 
that  I  have  liked  it  since,  in  spite  of  my  reason  and 
of  all  that  I  have  said  against  it.  I  do  not  withdraw 
anything  which  I  have  already  said,  but  when  I  see 
the  inveterate  persistency  of  foreign  writers  to  try 
and  prove  that  the  French  Revolution  was  one  long 
story  of  folly  and  shame,  and  that  it  is  but  an  unim- 
portant factor  in  the  world's  history,  I  begin  to 
think  that  it  is  perhaps  the  greatest  of  all  our 
achievements,  inasmuch  as  other  people  are  so  jeal- 
ous of  it. 


GOOD  MASTER  SYSTEME. 

PART   II. 

Among  those  whom  I  have  to  thank  for  being 
more  a  son  of  the  Revolution  than  of  the  Crusaders 
was  a  singular  character  who  was  long  a  puzzle 
to  us.  He  was  an  elderly  man,  whose  mode  of  life, 
ideas,  and  habits  were  in  striking  contrast  with  those 
of  the  country  at  large.  I  used  to  see  him  every 
day,  with  his  threadbare  cloak,  going  to  buy  a 
pennyworth  of  milk  which  the  girl  who  sold  it  poured 
into  the  tin  he  brought  with  him.  He  was  poor 
without  being  literally  in  want.  He  never  spoke  to 
any  one,  but  he  had  a  very  gentle  look  about  the 
eyes,  and  those  who  had  happened  to  be  brought 
into  contact  with  him  spoke  in  very  eulogistic  - 
terms  of  his  amiability  and  good  sense.  I  never 
knew  his  name,  and  I  do  not  believe  that  any  one 
else  did.  He  did  not  belong  to  our  part  of  the 
country,  and  he  had  no  relations.  He  was  allowed 
to  go  his  own  way,  and  his  singular  mode  of  life 
excited  no  other  feeling  than  one  of  surprise  ;  but 
it  had  not  always  been  so.     He  had  passed  through 

91 


92  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

many  vicissitudes.  At  onetime  he  had  been  in  com- 
munication with  the  people  of  the  place  and  had 
imparted  some  of  his  ideas  to  them  ;  but  no  one 
understood  what  he  meant.  The  word  system  which 
he  used  several  times  tickled  their  fancy,  and  this 
nickname  was  at  once  applied  to  him.  If  he  had 
gone  on  imparting  his  ideas  he  would  have  got  him- 
self into  trouble,  and  the  children  would  have  pelted 
him.  Like  a  wise  man  he  kept  his  tongue  between 
his  teeth,  and  no  one  attempted  to  molest  him.  He 
came  out  every  day  to  make  his  modest  purchases, 
and  of  an  evening  he  would  take  a  walk  in  some  un- 
frequented spot.  He  was  of  a  serious  but  not  melan- 
choly cast  of  countenance,  and  with  more  of  an  amia- 
ble than  morose  expression.  Later  in  life,  when  I 
read  Colerus'  Life  of  Spinoza,  I  at  once  saw  that  as 
a  child  I  had  had  before  my  eyes  the  very  image  of 
the  holy  man  of  Amsterdam.  He  was  left  to  follow 
his  own  courses,  and  was  even  treated  with  respect. 
His  resigned  and  affable  airs  seemed  like  a  glimpse 
from  another  world.  People  did  not  understand 
him,  but  they  felt  that  he  possessed  higher  quali- 
ties, to  which  they  paid  implicit  homage. 

He  never  went  to  church,  and  avoided  any  occa- 
sion of  having  to  make  external  display  of  religious 
belief.  The  clergy  were  very  unfavorable  to  him, 
and  though  they  did  not   denounce  him  from  the 


GOOD  MASTER   SYSTEME,  93 

pulpit,  as  he  had  never  given  any  cause  for  scandal, 
his  name  was  always  mentioned  with  repugnance. 
A  peculiar  incident  occurred  to  fan  this  animosity 
into  a  flame,  and  to  involve  the  aged  recluse  in  an 
atmosphere  of  ghostly  terror.  He  possessed  a  very 
large  library,  consisting  of  works  belonging  to  the 
eighteenth  century.  All  those  philosophical  treatises 
which  have  exercised  a  wider  influence  than  Luther 
and  Calvin  were  to  be  found  in  it,  and  the  old  book- 
worm knew  them  by  heart,  and  eked  out  a  living  by 
lending  them  to  some  of  his  neighbors.  The  clergy 
looked  upon  this  as  the  abomination  of  desolation, 
and  strictly  forbade  their  flocks  to  borrow  these  books. 
System's  lodging  was  looked  upon  as  a  receptacle 
for  every  kind  of  impiety. 

I,  as  a  matter  of  course,  looked  upon  him  and  his 
books  in  the  same  light,  and  it  was  only  when  my 
ideas  upon  philosophy  were  well  consolidated  that  I 
came  to  understand  that  I  had  been  fortunate  enough 
during  my  youth  to  contemplate  a  truly  wise  man. 
I  had  no  difficulty  in  reconstructing  his  ideas  by 
piecing  together  a  few  words  which  at  the  time  had 
appeared  to  me  unintelligible,  but  which  I  had  re- 
membered. God,  in  his  eyes,  was  the  order  of 
nature,  from  which  all  things  proceed,  and  he  would 
not  brook  contradiction  upon  this  point.  He  loved 
humanity  as  representing   reason,  and  he  hated  su- 


94  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

perstition  as  the  negation  of  reason.  Although  he 
had  not  the  poetic  afflatus  which  the  nineteenth 
century  has  given  to  these  great  truths,  System,  I 
feel  sure,  had  very  high  and  far-reaching  views.  He 
was  quite  in  the  right;  so  far  from  failing  to  appreciate 
the  greatness  of  God,  he  looked  with  contempt  upon 
those  who  believed  that  they  could  move  Him. 
Lost  in  profound  tranquillity  and  unaffected  humility, 
he  saw  that  human  error  was  more  to  be  pitied 
than  hated.  It  was  evident  that  he  despised  his 
age.  The  revival  of  superstition,  which,  he  thought, 
had  been  buried  by  Voltaire  and  Rousseau,  seemed  to 
him  a  sign  of  utter  imbecility  in  the  rising  generation. 
He  was  found  dead  one  morning  in  his  humble 
room,  with  his  books  and  papers  littered  all  about 
him.  This  was  soon  after  the  Revolution  of  1830, 
and  the  mayor  had  him  decently  interred  at  night. 
The  clergy  purchased  the  whole  of  his  library  at  a 
nominal  price  and  made  away  with  it.  No  papers 
were  found  which  served  to  elucidate  the  mystery 
which  had  always  surrounded  him,  but  in  the  corner 
of  one  drawer  was  found  a  packet  containing  some 
faded  flowers  tied  up  with  a  tricolored  ribbon.  At 
first  this  was  supposed  to  be  some  love-token,  and 
several  people  built  up  on  this  foundation  a  romantic 
biography  of  the  deceased  ^recluse,  but  the  tricolor 
ribbon  tended  to  discredit  this  version.     My  mother 


GOOD  MASTER   SYSTEME,  95 

never  believed  that  it  was  the  correct  one.  Al- 
though she  had  an  instinctive  feeling  of  respect  for 
System,  she  always  said  to  me :  ^'  I  am  sure  that  he 
was  one  of  the  Terrorists.  I  sometimes  fancy  that 
I    remember  seeing  him  in  1793.     Besides,  he    has 

all   the  ways  and    ideas  of    M ,  who  terrorized 

Lannion  and  kept  the  guillotine  in  constant  play 
there  during  the  time  that  Robespierre  had  the 
upper  hand.'*  Fifteen  or  twenty  years  ago,  I  read 
the  following  paragraph  in  a  newspaper  : 

'*  There  died  yesterday,  almost  suddenly,  in  an  un- 
frequented street  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Jacques,  an  old 
man  whose  way  of  living  was  a  constant  source  of 
gossip  in  the  neighborhood.  He  was  respected  in 
the  parish  as  a  model  of  charity  and  kindness,  but 
he  was  careful  to  avoid  any  allusion  to  his  past.  A 
few  works,  such  as  Volney's  Catechism^  and  odd 
volumes  of  Rousseau,  were  scattered  about  the 
table.  All  his  property  consisted  of  a  trunk,  which 
when  opened  by  the  Commissary  of  Police,  was 
found  to  contain  only  a  few  clothes  and  a  faded 
bouquet  carefully  wrapped  up  in  a  piece  of  paper  on 
which  was  written  :  '  Bouquet  which  I  wore  at  the 
festival  of  the  Supreme  being,  20  Prairial,  year  II.'  " 

This  explained  the  whole  thing  to  me,  I  re- 
membered how  the  few  disciples  of  the  Jacobite 
School  whom  I  had  known  were  ardently  attached 


96  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

to  the  recollections  of  1793-94  and  incapable  of 
dwelling  upon  anything  else.  The  twelvemonths* 
dream  was  so  vivid  that  those  who  had  experienced 
it  could  not  come  back  to  real  life.  They  were  ever 
haunted  by  the  same  sinister  fancy  ;  they  had  a  de- 
lirium tremens  of  blood.  They  were  uncompromis- 
ing in  their  belief,  and  the  world  at  large,  which 
no  longer  pitched  its  note  to  their  cry,  seemed  idle 
and  empty  in  their  eyes.  Left  standing  alone  like 
the  survivors  of  a  world  of  giants,  loaded  with  the 
opprobrium  of  the  human  race,  they  could  hold  nc 
sort  of  communion  with  the  living.  I  could  quite 
understand  the  effect  which  Lakanal  must  have  pro- 
duced when  he  returned  from  America  rn  1833  and 
appeared  among  his  colleagues  of  the  Academic  dcs 
Sciences  Moi'ales  et  Politiques  like  a  phantom.  I 
could  understand  Daunou  looking  upon  M.  Cousin 
and  M.  Guizot  as  dangerous  Jesuits.  By  a  not  un- 
common contrast  these  survivors  of  the  fierce 
struggles  and  combats  of  the  Revolution  had  become 
as  gentle  as  lambs.  Man,  to  be  kind,  need  not  nec- 
essarily  have  a  jggLcal  basis  for  his  kindijfess.  The 
most  cruel  of  the  Inquisitors  of  the  middle  ages, 
Conrad  of  Marburg  for  instance,  were  the  kindest  of 
men.  This  we  see  in  Torqtieinada,  where  the  genius 
of  Victor  Hugo  shows  us  how  a  man  may  send  his  fel- 
lows to  the  stake  out  of  charity  and  sentimentalism. 


LITTLE  NOEML 

PART   I. 

Although  the  religious  and  too  premature  sacer- 
dotal education  which  I  had  received  prevented  me 
from  being  on  any  intimate  terms  with  young  people 
of  the  other  sex,  I  had  several  little  girl-friends,  one 
of  whom  more  particularly  has  left  a  profound  im- 
pression upon  me.  From  an  early  age  I  preferred 
the  society  of  girls  to  boys,  and  the  latter  did  not 
like  me,  as  I  was  too  effeminate  for  them.  We  could 
not  play  together,  as  they  called  me  *'  Mademoiselle," 
and  teased  me  in  a  variety  of  ways.  Upon  the  other 
hand,  I  got  on  very  well  with  girls  of  my  own  age, 
and  they  found  me  very  sensible  and  steady.  I  was 
about  twelve  or  thirteen,  and  I  could  not  account 
for  the  preference.  The  vague  idea  which  attracted 
me  to  them  was,  I  think,  that  men  are  at  liberty  to 
do  many  things  which  women  cannot,  and  the  latter 
consequently  had,  in  my  eyes,  the  charm  of  being 
weak  and  beautiful  creatures,  subject  in  their  daily 
life  to  rules  of  conduct  which  they  did  not  attempt 
to  override.  All  those  whom  I  had  known  were  the 
5  97 


98'  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

pattern  of  modesty.  The  first  feeling  which  stirred 
in  me  was  one  of  pity,  so  to  speak,  coupled  with  the 
idea  of  assisting  them  in  their  becoming  resignation, 
of  liking  them  for  their  reserve,  and  making  it  easier 
for  them.  I  quite  felt  my  own  intellectual  superior- 
ity ;  but  even  at  that  early  age  I  felt  that  the  woman 
who  is  very  beautiful  or  very  good,  solves  completely 
the  problem  of  which  we,  with  all  our  hard-headed- 
ness,  make  such  a  hash.  We  are  mere  children  or 
pedants  compared  to  her.  I  as  yet  understood  this 
only  vaguely,  though  I  saw  clearly  enough  that 
beauty  is  so  great  a  gift  that  talent,  genius  and  even 
virtue  are  nothing  when  weighed  in  the  balance  with 
it ;  so  that  the  woman  who  is  really  beautiful  has 
the  right  to  hold  herself  superior  to  everybody  and 
everything;  inasmuch  as  she  combines  not  in  a 
creation  outside  of  herself,  but  \vl  her  very  person, 
as  in  a  Myrrhine  vase,  all  the  qualities  which  genius 
painfully  endeavors  to  reproduce. 

Among  these,  my  companions,  there  was,  as  I  have 
said,  one  to  whom  I  was  particularly  attached.  Her 
name  was  Noemi,  and  she  was  quite  a  model  of  good 
conduct  and  grace.  Her  eyes  had  a  languid  look, 
which  denoted  at  once  good-nature  and  quickness ; 
her  hair  was  beautifully  fair.  She  was  about  two 
years  my  senior,  and  she  treated  me  partly  as  an 
elder  sister,  partly  with  the  confidential  affection  of 


LITTLE  NOEML  99 

one  child  for  another.  We  got  on  very  well  together, 
and  while  our  friends  were  constantly  falling  out,  we 
were  always  of  one  mind.  I  tried  to  make  these 
quarrels  up,  but  she  never  thought  that  I  should  be 
successful,  and  would  tell  me  that  it  was  hopeless  to 
try  and  make  everybody  agree.  These  attempts  at 
mediation,  which  gave  us  an  imperceptible  superior- 
ity over  the  other  children,  formed  a  very  pleasing 
tie  between  us.  Even  now  I  cannot  hear  ^^  Nous 
n  irons  plus  au  bois"  or  '^11  pleut^  il  pleut^  bergere,'' 
without  my  heart  beating  rather  more  quickly  than 
is  its  wont.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  but  for  the 
fatal  vice  which  held  me  fast,  I  should  have  been  in 
love  with  Noemi  two  or  three  years  later ;  but  I  was 
a  slave  to  reasoning,  and  my  whole  time  was  devot- 
ed to  religious  dialectics.  The  flow  of  abstractions 
which  rushed  to  the  head  made  me  giddy,  and 
caused  me  to  be  absent-minded  and  oblivious  of  all 
else. 

This  budding  affection  was,  moreover,  turned  from 
its  course  by  a  peculiar  defect  which  has  more  than 
once  been  injurious  to  my  prospects  in  life.  This  is 
my  indecision  of  character,  which  often  leads  me  into 
positions  from  which  I  have  great  difficulty  in  extri- 
cating myself.  This  defect  was  further  complicated 
in  this  particular  case  by  a  good  quality  which  has 
led  me  into  as  many  difficulties  as  the  most  serious  of 


100  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

defects.  There  was  among  these  children  a  httle  girl, . 
though  much  less  pretty  than  Noemi,  who,  gentle 
and  amiable  as  she  was,  did  not  get  nearly  so  much 
notice  taken  of  her.  She  was  even  fonder  of  making 
me  her  companion  than  Noemi,  of  whom  she  was 
rather  jealous.  I  have  never  been  able  to  do  a  thing 
-^which  would  give  pain  to  any  one.  I  had  a  vague 
sort  of  idea  that  a  woman  who  was  not  very  pretty 
must  be  unhappy  and  feel  the  inward  pang  of  having 
missed  her  fate.  I  was  oftener,  therefore,  with  her 
than  with  Noemi,  because  I  saw  that  she  was  melan- 
\  choly.  So  I  allowed  my  first  love  to  go  off  at  a 
^tan^eja.tj  just  as,  later  in  life,  I  did  in  politics,  and 
in  a  very  bungling  sort  of  way.  Once  or  twice  I 
noticed  Noemi  laughing  to  herself  at  my  simple 
folly.  She  was  always  nice  with  me,  but  at  times 
her  m.anner  was  slightly  sarcastic,  and  this  tinge  of 
irony,  which  she  made  no  attempt  to  conceal,  only 
rendered  her  more  charming  in  my  eyes. 

The  struggles  amid  which  I  grew  to  manhood 
nearly  effaced  her  from  my  memory.  In  after  years 
I  often  fancied  that  I  could  see  her  again,  and  one 
day  I  asked  my  mother  what  had  become  of  her. 
"  She  is  dead,*'  my  mother  replied,  ''  and  of  a  broken 
heart.  She  had  no  fortune  of  her  own.  When  she 
lost  her  father  and  mother,  her  aunt — a  very  respect- 
able   woman    who    kept    the    equally    respectable 


LITTLE   NOEMI.  •  lOI 

Hotel   ,  took  her  to  live  there.     She  did   the 

best  she  could.  Even  as  a  child,  when  you  knew 
her,  she  was  charming,  but  at  two-and-twenty  she 
was  marvelously  beautiful.  Her  hair — which  she 
tried  in  vain  to  keep  out  of  sight  under  a  heavy 
cap — came  down  over  her  neck  in  wavy  tresses  like 
handfuls  of  ripe  wheat.  She  did  all  that  she  could  to 
conceal  her  beauty.  Her  beautiful  figure  was  dis- 
guised by  a  cape,  and  her  long  white  hands  were 
always  covered  with  mittens.  But  it  was  all  of  no 
use.  Groups  of  young  men  would  assemble  in  church 
to  see  her  at  her  devotions.  *^  She  was  too  beautiful 
for  our  country,  and  she  was  as  good  as  she  was 
beautiful."  My  mother's  story  touched  me  very 
much.  I  have  thought  of  her  much  more  frequently 
since,  and  when  it  pleased  God  to  give  me  a  daugh- 
ter I  named  her  Noemi. 


LITTLE   NOEML 

PART  II. 

The  world  in  its  progress  cares  little  more  how 
many  it  crushes  than  the  car  of  the  idol  of  Jugger- 
naut. The  whole  of  the  ancient  society  which  I 
have  endeavored  to  portray  has  disappeared.  Brehat 
has  passed  out  of  existence.  I  revisited  it  six  years 
ago  and  should  not  have  known  it  again.  Some 
genius  in  the  capital  of  the  department  has  discov- 
ered that  certain  ancient  usages  of  the  island  are  not 
in  keeping  with  some  articles  of  the  code,  and  a 
peaceable  and  well-to-do  population  has  been  reduced 
to  revolt  and  beggary.  These  islands  and  coasts 
which  were  formerly  such  a  good  nursery  for  the 
navy  are  so  no  longer.  The  railways  and  the  steam- 
ers have  been  the  ruin  of  them.  And  like  old  Breton 
bards,  tb  what  a  case  they  have  been  brought !  I 
found  several  of  them  a  few  years  ago  among  the 
Bas-Bretons  who  came  to  eke  out  a  miserable  exist- 
ence at  St.  Malo.  One  of  them,  who  was  employed 
in  sweeping  the  streets,  came  to  see  me.  He  ex- 
plained to  me  in  Breton — for  he  could  not  speak  a 
1 02 


LITTLE  NOEML  IO3 

word  of  French — his  ideas  as  to  the  decadence  of  all 
poetry  and  the  inferiority  of  the  new  schools.  He 
was  attached  to  the  old  style — the  narrative  ballad — 
and  he  began  to  sing  to  me  the  one  which  he  deemed 
the  prettiest  of  them.  The  subject  of  it  was  the 
death  of  Louis  XVI.  He  burst  into  tears,  and 
when  he  got  to  Santerre's  beating  of  the  drums  he 
could  not  continue.  Rising  proudly  to  his  feet,  he 
said  :  "  If  the  king  could  have  spoken,  the  specta- 
tors would  have  rallied  to  him."     Poor  dear  man  ! 

With  all  these  instances  before  me  the  case  of  the 
wealthy  M.A.,  seemed  to  me  all  the  more  singular. 
When  I  asked  my  mother  to  explain  it  to  me,  she 
always  evaded  an  answer  and  spoke  vaguely  of  ad- 
ventures on  the  coast  of  Madagascar.  Upon  one 
occasion,  I  pressed  her  more  closely  and  asked  her 
how  it  was  that  the  coasting  trade  at  which  no  one 
had  ever  made  money  could  have  made  a  millionaire 
of  him.  "  How  obstinate  you  are,  Ernest,"  she  re- 
plied.    ^^  I  have  often   told  you  not  to  ask  me  that ! 

Z is  the  only  person  in  our  circle  who  has  any 

pretensions  to  polish ;  he  is  in  a  good  position ;  he  is 
rich  and  respected  ;  there  is  no  need  to  ask  him  how 
he  made  his  money."  ''  Tell  me  all  the  same."  ''  Well 
if  you  must  know,  and  as  people  cannot  get  rich 
without  soiling  their  fingers  more  or  less,  he  was  in 
the  slave  trade." 


I04  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

A  noble  people,  fit  only  to  serve  nobles  and  in 
harmony  of  ideas  with  them,  is  in  our  days  at  the 
very  antipodes  of  sound  political  economy,  and  is 
bound  to  die  of  starvation.  Persons  of  delicate  ideas, 
who  are  hampered  by  honorable  scruples  of  one  kind 
and  another,  stand  no  chance  with  the  matter  of  fact 
competitors  who  are  the  men  not  to  let  slip  any 
advantage  in  the  battle  of  life.  I  soon  found  this 
out  when  I  began  to  know  something  of  the  planet 
in  which  we  live,  and  hence  there  arose  within  me  a 
struggle,  or  rather  a  dualism,  which  has  been  the 
secret  of  all  my  opinions.  I  did  not  ia.any  wayJose 
my  fondness  for  the  ideal;  it  still  is  and  always  will 
be  implanted  in  me  as  strongly  as  ever.  The  most 
trifling  act  of  goodness,  the  least  spark  of  talent,  are 
in  my  eyes  infinitely  superior  to  all  riches  and 
worldly  achievements.  But  as  I  had  a  well-balanced 
mind  I  saw  that  the  ideal  and  reality  have  nothing 
in  common ;  that  the  world  is,  at  all  events  for  the 
time,  given  over  to  what  is  commonplace  and  paltry  ; 
that  the  cause  which  generous  souls  will  embrace  is 
sure  to  be  the  losing  one ;  and  that  what  men  of  re- 
fined intellect  hold  to  be  true  in  literature  and  poetry 
is  always  wrong  in  the  dull  world  of  accomplished 
facts.  The  events  which  followed  the  Revolution  of 
1848  confirmed  all  their  ideas.  It  turned  out  that 
the  most    alluring  dreams,  when  carried    into   the 


LITTLE  NOEML  '  I05 

domain  of  facts,  were  mischievous  to  the  last  degree, 
and  that  the  affairs  of  the  world  were  never  so  well 
managed  as  when  the  idealists  had  no  part  or  lot  in 
them.  From  that  time  I  accustomed  myself  to  fol- 
low a  very  singular  course :  that  is,  to  shape  my 
practical  judgments  in  direct  opposition  to  my  the- 
oretical judgments,  and  to  regard  as  possible  that 
which  was  in  contradiction  with  my  desires.  A  some- 
what lengthy  experience  had  shown  me  that  the 
cause  I  sympathized  with  always  failed,  and  that  the 
one  which  I  decried  was  certain  to  be  triumphant. 
The  lamer  a  political  solution  was,  the  brighter  ap- 
peared to  me  its  prospect  of  being  accepted  into  the 
world  of  realities. 
/  In  fine,  I  only  care  for  characters  of  an  absolute 
idealism :  martyrs,  heroes,  utopists,  friends  of  the  im- 
i  possible.  They  are  the  only  persons  in  whom  I 
Y  interest  myself;  they  are,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  k 
say  so,  my  specialty.  But  I  see  what  those  whose 
imagination  runs  away  with  them  fail  to  see,  viz.,  that 
these  flights  of  fancy  are  no  longer  of  any  use,  and 
that  for  a  long  time  to  come  the  heroic  follies  which 
were  deified  in  the  past  will  fall  flat.  The  enthusi- 
asm of  1792  was  a  great  and  noble  outburst,  but  it 
was  one  of  those  things  which  will  not  recur.  Jaco- 
binism, as  M.  Thiers  has  clearly  shown,  was  the  salva- 
tion of  France ;  now  it  would  be  her  ruin.  The 
5* 


I06  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

events  of  1870  have  by  no  means  cured  me  of  my 
pessimism.  They  taught  me  the  high  value  of  evil, 
and  that  the  cynical  disavowal  of  all  sentiment, 
generosity  and  chivalry  gives  pleasure  to  the  world 
at  large  and  is  invariably  successful.  Egotism  is  the 
exact  opposite  of  what  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
regard  as  noble  and  good.  We  see  that  in  this  world 
egotism  alone  commands  success.  England  has,  until 
within  the  last  few  years,  been  the  first  nation  in  the 
world  because  she  was  the  most  selfish.  Germany 
has  acquired  the  hegemony  of  the  world  by  repudiat- 
ing without  scruple  the  principles  of  political  mo- 
rality which  she  once  so  eloquently  preached. 

This  is  the  explanation  of  the  anomaly  that  having 
on  several  occasions  been  called  upon  to  ^\v^  practi- 
cal advice  in  regard  to  the  affairs  of  my  country,  this 
advice  has  always  been  in  direct  contradiction  with 
my  artistic  views.  In  so  doing,  I  have  been  actuated 
by  conscientious  motives.  I  have  endeavored  to 
evade  the  ordinary  cause  of  my  errors ;  I  have  taken 
the  counterpart  of  my  instincts  and  been  on  guard 
against  my  idealism.  I  am  always  afraid  that  my 
mode  of  thought  will  lead  me  wrong  and  blind  me  to 
one  side  of  the  question.  This  is  how  it  is  that, 
much  as  I  love  what  is  good,  I  am  perhaps  over  in- 
dulgent for  those  who  have  taken  another  view  of 
life,  and  that,  while  always  being  full  ^f  work,  I  ask 


LITTLE  NOEMI,  10/ 

myself  very  often  whether  the  idlers  are  not  right 
after  all. 

So  far  as  regards  enthusiasm,  I  have  got  as  much 
of  it  as  any  one  ;  but  I  believe  that  the  reality  will 
have  none  of  it,  and  that  with  the  reign  of  men  of 
business,  manufacturers,  the  working  class  (which  is 
the  most  selfish  of  all),  Jews,  English  of  the  old 
school  and  Germans  of  the  new  school,  has  been 
ushered  in  a  materialist  age  in  which  it  will  be  as  dif- 
ficult to  bring  about  the  triumph  of  a  generous  idea 
as  to  produce  the  silver  note  -of  the  great  bell  of 
Notre  Dame  with  one  cast  in  lead  or  tin.  It  is 
strange,  moreover,  that  while  not  pleasing  one  side 
I  have  not  deceived  the  other.  The  bourgeois  have 
not  been  the  least  grateful  to  me  for  my  concessions  ; 
they  have  read  me  better  than  I  can  read  myself,  and 
they  have  seen  that  I  was  but  a  poor  sort  of  Con- 
servative, and  that  without  the  most  remote  intention 
of  acting  in  bad  faith  I  should  have  played  them 
false  twenty  times  over  out  of  affection  for  the  ideal, 
my  ancient  mistress.  They  felt  that  the  hard  things 
which  I  said  to  her  were  only  superficial  and  that  I 
should  be  unable  to  resist  the  first  smile  which  she 
might  bestow  upon  me. 
^  We  must  create  the  heavenly  kingdom,  that  is  the 
(  ideal  one,  within  ourselves.  The  time  is  past  for  the 
creation  of  miniature  worlds,  refined  Thelem,  based 


/d 


68^  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOU  TIL, 

upon  mutual  affection  and  esteem  -/but  life,  well  un- 
derstood and  well  lived,  in  a  small  circle  of  persons 
who  can  appreciate  one  another,  brings  its  own  re- 
ward. Communion  of  spirit  is  the  greatest  and  the 
only  reality.  This  is  why  my  thoughts  revert  so 
willingly  to  those  worthy  priests  who  were  my  first 
masters,  to  the  honest  sailors  who  lived  only  to  do 
their  duty,  to  little  No^mi  who  died  because  she  was 
too  beautiful,  to  my  grandfather  who  would  not  buy 
the  national  property,  and  to  good  Master  Systeme 
who  was  happy  inasmuch  as  he  had  his  hour  of  illu- 
j  sion.  Happiness  consists  in  devotion  to  a  dream  or 
to  a  duty  ;  self-sacrifice  is  the  surest  means  of  secur- 
ing repose.  One  of  the  early  Buddhaswho  preceded 
Sakya-Mouni  obtained  the  7iirvana  in  a  singular 
way.  He  saw  one  day  a  falcon  chasing  a  little  bird. 
"  I  beseech  thee,"  he  said  to  the  bird  of  prey,  ''  leave 
this  little  creature  in  peace;  I  will  give  thee  its 
weight  from  my  own  flesh."  A  small  pair  of  scales 
descended  from  the  heavens,  and  the  transaction  was 
carried  out.  The  little  bird  settled  itself  upon  one 
side  of  the  scales,  and  the  saint  placed  in  the  other 
platter  a  good  slice  of  his  flesh,  but  the  beam  did  not 
move.  Bit  by  bit  the  whole  of  his  body  went  into 
the  scales,  but  still  the  scales  were  motionless.  Just 
as  the  last  shred  of  the  holy  man's  body  touched  the 
scale  the  beam  fell,  the  little  bird  flew  away  and  the 


LITTLE  NOEMI,  IO9 

saint  entered  into  Nirvana,  The  falcon,  who  had 
not,  all  said  and  done,  made  a  bad  bargain,  gorged 
itself  on  his  flesh. 

The  little  bird  represents  the  unconsidered  trifles 
of  beauty  and  innocence  which  our  poor  planet,  worn 
out  as  it  may  be,  will  ever  contain.  The  falcon 
represents  the  far  larger  proportion  of  egotism  and 
gross  appetites  which  make  up  the  sum  of  humanity. 
The  wise  man  purchases  the  free  enjoyment  of  what 
is  good  and  noble  by  making  over  his  flesh  to  the 
greedy,  who  while  engrossed  by  this  material  feast, 
leave  him  and  the  free  objects  of  his  fancy  in  peace. 
The  scales  coming  down  from  above  represent  fatal- 
ity, which  is  not  to  be  moved,  and  which  will  not  ac- 
cept a  partial  sacrifice;  but  from  which,  by  a  total 
abnegation  of  self,  by  casting  it  a  prey,  we  can 
escape,  as  it  then  has  no  further  hold  upon  us.  The 
falcon  for  its  part  is  content  when  virtue,  by  the  sac- 
rifices which  she  makes,  secures  for  it  greater  advan- 
tages than  it  could  obtain  by  the  force  of  its  own 
claws.  Desiring  a  profit  from  virtue,  its  interest  is 
that  virtue  should  exist ;  and  so  the  wise  man,  by 
the  surrender  of  his  material  privileges,  attains  his 
one  aim,  which  is  to  secure  free  enjoyment  of  the 
ideal. 


THE  PETTY  SEMINARY  OF 
SAINT    NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET. 

Many  persons  who  allow  that  I  have  a  perspicu- 
ous mind  wonder  how  I  came  during  my  boyhood 
and  youth  to  put  faith  in  creeds,  the  impossibihty  of 
which  has  since  been  so  clearly  revealed  to  me. 
Nothing,  however,  can  be  more  simple,  and  it  is  very 
probable  that  if  an  extraneous  incident  had  not  sud- 
denly taken  me  from  the  honest  but  narrow-minded 
associations  amid  which  my  youth  was  passed,  I 
should  have  preserved  all  my  life  long  the  faith 
which  in  the  beginning  appeared  to  me  as  the  ab- 
solute expression  of  the  truth.  I  have  said  how  I 
was  educated  in  a  small  school  kept  by  some  honest 
priests,  who  taught  me  Latin  after  the  old  fashion, 
(which  was  the  right  one),  that  is  to  say,  to  read 
out  of  trumpery  primers,  without  method  and  al- 
most without  grammar,  as  Erasmus  and  the  hu- 
manists of  the  fifteenth  and  sixteenth  century,  who 
are  the  best  Latin  scholars  since  the  days  of  old, 
used  to  learn  it.  These  worthy  priests  were  patterns 
of  all  that  is  good.  Devoid  of  anything  \<k& pedagogy, 
no 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  Ill 

to  use  the  modern  phrase,  they  followed  the  first 
rule  of  education,  which  is  not  to  make  too  easy  the 
tasks  which  have  for  their  aim  the  mastering  of  a 
difficulty.  Their  main  object  was  to  make  their  pupils 
into  honorable  men.  Their  lessons  of  goodness  and 
morality,  which  impressed  me  as  being  the  literal 
embodiments  of  virtue  and  high  feeling,  were  part 
and  parcel  of  the  dogma  which  they  taught.  The 
historical  education  they  had  ^iy^vl  me  consisted 
solely  in  reading  Rollin.  Of  criticism,  the  natural 
sciences,  and  philosophy  I  as  yet  knew  nothing  of 
course.  Of  all  that  concerned  the  nineteenth  century, 
and  the  new  ideas  as  to  history  and  literature  ex- 
pounded by  so  many  gifted  thinkers,  my  teachers 
knew  nothing.  It  was  impossible  to  imagine  a 
more  complete  isolation  from  the  ambient  air.  A 
thorough-paced  Legitimist  would  not  even  admit 
the  possibility  of  the  Revolution  or  of  Napoleon 
being  mentioned  except  with  a  shudder.  My  only 
knowledge  of  the  empire  was  derived  from  the 
lodge-keeper  of  the  school.  He  had  in  his  room 
several  popular  prints.  ^'  Look  at  Bonaparte,"  he 
said  to  me  one  day,  pointing  to  one  of  these,  "  he 
was  a  patriot,  he  was !  "  No  allusion  was  ever  made 
to  contemporary  literature,  and  the  literature  of 
France  terminated  with  Abbe  Delille.  They  had  heard 
of  Chateaubriand,  but  with  a  truer  instinct  than  that 


112  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

of  the  would-be  Neo-Catholics,  whose  heads  are 
crammed  with  all  sorts  of  delusions,  they  mistrusted 
him.  A  Tertullian  enlivening  his  Apologeticum  with 
Atala2C^A  Rene  wdiS  not  calculated  to  command  their 
confidence.  Lamartine  perplexed  them  more  sorely 
still ;  they  guessed  that  his  religious  faith  was  not  built 
on  very  strong  foundations,  and  they  foresaw  his 
subsequent  falling  away.  This  gift  of  observation 
did  credit  to  their  orthodox  sagacity,  but  the  result 
was  that  the  horizon  of  their  pupils  was  a  very  narrow 
one.  Rollin's  Traite  des  Etudes  is  a  work  full  of 
large-minded  views  compared  to  the  circle  of  pious 
mediocrity  within  which  they  felt  it  their  duty  to 
confine  themselves. 

Thus  the  education  which  I  received  in  the  years 
following  the  Revolution  of  1830  was  the  same  as 
that  which  was  imparted  by  the  strictest  of  religious 
sects  two  centuries  ago.  It  w^as  none  the  worse  for  that, 
being  the  same  forcible  mode  of  teaching,  distinctively 
religious,  but  not  in  the  least  Jesuitical,  under  which 
the  youth  of  ancient  France  had  studied,  and  which 
gave  so  serious  and  so  Christian  a  turn  to  the  mind. 
Educated  by  teachers  who  had  inherited  the  qualities 
of  Port  Royal,  minus  their  heresy,  but  minus  also  their 
power  over  the  pen,  I  may  claim  forgiveness  for  having, 
at  the  age  of  twelve  or  fifteen,  admitted  the  truth  of 
Christianity  like  any  pupil  of  Nicole  or  M.  Hermant. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU   CHARDONNET,  II3 

My  state  of  mind  was  very  much  that  of  so  many 
clever  men  of  the  seventeenth  century,  who  put  re- 
Hgion  beyond  the  reach  of  doubt,  though  this  did  not 
prevent  them  having  very  clear  ideas  upon  all  other 
topics.  I  afterv/ard  learnt  facts  which  caused  me 
to  abandon  my  Christian  beliefs ;  but  they  must  be 
profoundly  ignorant  of  history  and  of  the  human 
intelligence  who  do  not  understand  how  strong  a 
hold  the  simple  and  honest  discipline  of  the  priests 
took  upon  the  more  gifted  of  their  students.  The  , 
basis  of  this  primitive  form  of  education  was  the 
strictest  morality,  which  they  inculcated  as  insep- 
arable from  religious  practice,  and  they  made  us  ^ 
regard  the  possession  of  life  as  implying  duties  ^ 
toward  truth^  The  very  effort  to  shake  off  opinions, 
in  some  respects  unreasonable,  had  its  advantages. 
Because  a  Paris  flibbertigibbet  disposes  with  a  joke 
of  creeds,  from  which  Pascal,  with  all  his  reasoning 
powers,  could  not  shake  himself  free,  it  must  not 
be  concluded  that  the  Gavroche  is  superior  to  Pascal. 
I  confess  that  I  at  times  feel  humiliated  to  think  that 
it  cost  me  five  or  six  years  of  arduous  research,  and 
the  study  of  Hebrew,  the  Semitic  languages,  Gesenius, 
and  Ewald  to  arrive  at  the  result  which  this  urchin 
achieves  in  a  twinkling.  These  pilings  of  Pelion  upon 
Ossa  seem  to  me,  when  looked  at  in  this  light,  a  mere 
waste  of  time.    But  Pere  Hardouin  observed  that  he 


114  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

had  not  got  up  at  four  o'clock  every  morning  for  forty 
years  to  think  as  all  the  world  thought.  So  I  am  loath 
to  admit  that  I  have  been  at  so  much  pains  to  fight  a 
mere  chimcera  bombinans.  No,  I  cannot  think  that  my 
labors  have  been  all  in  vain,  nor  that  victory  is  to  be 
won  in  theology  as  cheaply  as  the  scoffers  would  have 
us  believe.  There  are,  m  reality,  but  few  people  who 
have  a  right  not  to  believe  in  Christianity.  If  the 
great  mass  of  people  only  knew  how  strong  is  the 
net  woven  by  the  theologians,  how  difficult  it  is  to 
break  the  threads  of  it,  how  much  eruLditjon  has  been 
spent  upon  it,  and  what  a  power  of  criticism  is  re- 
quired to  unravel  it  all.  ...  I  have  noticed  that  some 
men  of  talent  who  have  ,set  themselves  too  late  in 
life  the  task  have  been  taken  in  the  toils  and  have 
not  been  able  to  extricate  themselves. 
i/  My  tutors  taught  me  somethingwhich  was  infinitely 
*  more  valuable  than  criticism  or  philosophic  wisdom ; 
-^  they  taught  me  to  love  truth,  to  respect  reason,  and 
to  see  the  serious  side  of  life.  This  is  the  only  part 
in  me  which  has  never  changed.  I  left  their  care  with 
my  moral  sense  so  well  prepared  to  stand  any  test, 
that  this  precious  jewel  passed  uninjured  through  the 
crucible  of  Parisian  frivolity.  I  was  so  well  prepared 
for  the  good  and  for  the  true  that  I  could  not  possibly 
have  followed  a  career  which  was  not  devoted  to 
the  things  of  the  mind.     My  teachers  rendered  me 


ST,  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  II5 

SO  unfit  for  any  secular  work   that  I   was   perforce, 
embarked  upon  a  spiritual-  career.     The  intellectual 
life  was  the  only  noble  one  in  my  eyes  ;    and  merce- 
nary cares  seemed  to  me  servile  and  unworthy. 

I  have  never  departed  from  the  sound  and  whole- 
some programme  which  my  masters  sketched  out  ^ 
for  me.  I  no  longer  believe  Christianity  to  be  the 
supernatural  summary  of  all  that  men  can  know ;  . 
but  I  still  believe  that  life  is  the  most  frivolous  of  ^ 
things,  unless  it  is  regarded  as  one  great  and  constant  ly' 
duty.  Oh  !  my  beloved  old  teachers,  now  nearly  all 
with  the  departed,  whose  image  often  rises  before  me 
in  my  dreams,  not  as  a  reproach  but  as  a  grateful 
memory,  I  have  not  been  so  unfaithful  to  you  as  you 
believe !  yes,  I  have  said  that  your  history  was  very 
short  measure,  that  your  critique  had  no  existence, 
and  that  your  natural  philosophy  fell  far  short  of  that 
which  leads  us  to  accept  as  a  fundamental  dogma : 
"  There  is  no  special  supernatural ; ''  but  in  the  main 
I  am  still  your  disciple.  Life  is  only  of  value  by 
devotion  to  what  is  true  and  good.  Your  conception 
of  what  is  good  was  too  narrow ;  your  view  of  truth 
too  material  and  too  concrete,  but  you  were,  upon  the 
whole,  in  the  right,  and  I  thank  you  for  having 
inculcated  in  me  like  second  nature  the  principle,  fatal 
to  worldly  success  but  prolific  of  happiness,  that  the 
aim  of  a  life  worth  living  should  be  ideal  and  unselfish. 


Il6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

Most  of  my  fellow  students  were  brawny  and  high- 
spirited  young  peasants  from  the  neighborhood  of 
Tr^guier,  and,  like  most  individuals  occupying  an 
inferior  place  in  the  scale  of  civilization,  they  were 
inclined  to  air  an  exaggerated  regard  for  bodily 
strength,  and  to  show  a  certain  amount  of  contempt 
for  women  and  for  anything  which  they  considered 
effeminate.  Most  of  them  were  preparing  for  the 
priesthood.  My  experiences  of  that  time  put  me  in 
a  very  good  position  for  understanding  the  historical 
phenomena,  which  occur  when  a  vigorous  barbarism 
first  comes  into  contact  with  civilization.  I  can  quite 
easily  understand  the  intellectual  condition  of  the 
Germans  at  the  Carlovingian  epoch,  the  psychological 
and  literary  condition  of  a  Saxo  Grammaticus  and 
a  Hrabanus  Maurus.  Latin  had  a  very  singular 
effect  upon  their  rugged  natures,  and  they  were  like 
mastodons  going  in  for  a  degree.  They  took  every- 
thing as  serious  as  the  Laplanders  do  when  you  give 
them  the  Bible  to  read.  We  exchanged  with  regard 
to  Sallust  and  Livy,  impressions  which  must  have 
resembled  those  of  the  disciples  of  St.  Gall  or 
St.  Colomb  when  they  were  learning  Latin.  We 
decided  that  Caesar  was  not  a  great  man  because  he 
was  not  virtuous,  our  philosophy  of  history  was  as 
artless  and  child-like  as  might  have  been  that  of  the 
Heruli. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  11/ 

The  morals  of  all  these  young  people,  left  entirely 
to  themselves  and  with  no  one  to  look  after  them,  were 
irreproachable,^  There  were  very  few  boarders  at  the 
Tr^guier  College  just  then.  Most  of  the  students  who 
did  not  belong  to  the  town  boarded  in  private  houses, 
and  their  parents  used  to  bring  them  in  on  market  day 
their  provisions  for  the  week.  I  remember  one  of 
these  houses,  close  to  our  own,  in  which  several  of  my 
fellow-students  lodged.  The  mistress  of  it,  who  was 
an  indefatigable  housewife,  died,  and  her  husband, 
who  at  the  best  of  times  was  no  genius,  drowned  what 
little  he  had  in  the  cider-cup  every  evening.  A  little 
servant-maid,  who  was  wonderfully  intelligent,  took 
the  whole  burden  upon  her  shoulders.  The  young 
students  determined  to  help  her,  and  so  the  house 
went  on  despite  the  old  tippler.  I  always  heard  my 
comrades  speak  very  highly  of  this  little  servant, 
who  was  a  model  of  virtue  and  who  was  gifted, 
moreover,  with  a  very  pleasing  face. 
/  The  fact  is  that,  according  to  my  experience,  all  the 
\  allegations  against  the  morality  of  the  clergy  are 
^devoid  of  foundation.  I  passed  thirteen  years  of  my 
life  under  the  charge  of  priests,  and  I  never  saw 
anything  approaching  to  a  scandal ;  all  the  priests  I 
have  known  have  been  good  men.  Confession  may 
possibly  be  productive  of  evil  in  some  countries,  but 
I  never   saw  anything  of   the  sort   during   my  ec- 


Il8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

clesiastical  experience.  The  old-fashioned  book 
which  I  used  for  making  my  examinations  of 
conscience  was  innocence  itself.  There  was  only 
one  sin  which  excited  my  curiosity  and  made  me  feel 
uneasy.  I  was  afraid  that  I  might  have  been  guilty 
of  it  unawares.  I  mustered  up  courage  enough,  one 
day,  to  ask  my  confessor  what  was  meant  by  the 
phrase  :  "  To  be  guilty  of  simony  in  the  collation 
of  benefices.'*  The  good  priest  reassured  me  and 
told  me  that  I  could  not  have  committed  that  sin. 

Persuaded  by  my  teachers  of  two  absolute  truths, 
the  first,  that  no  one  who  has  any  respect  for  himself 
can  engage  in  any  work  that  is  not  ideal — and  that 
all  the  rest  is  secondary,  of  no  importance,  not  to  say 
shameful,  ignominia  scculi — and  the  second,  that 
Christianity  embodies  everything  which  is  ideal,  I 
could  not  do  otherwise  than  regard  myself  as  destined 
for  the  priesthood.  This  thought  was  not  the  result 
of  reflection,  impulse  or  reasoning.  It  came,  so  to 
speak,  of  itself.  The  possibility  of  a  lay  career  never 
so  much  as  occurred  to  me.  Having  adopted  with 
the  utmost  seriousness  and  docility  the  principles  of 
my  teachers,  and  having  brought  myself  to  consider 
all  commercial  and  mercenary  pursuits  as  inferior 
and  degrading,  and  only  fit  for  those  who  had  failed 
in  their  studies,  it  was  only  natural  that  I  should  wish 
to  be  what  they  were.    They  were  my  patterns  in  life, 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  II9 

and  my  sole  ambition  was  to  be  like  them,  professor 
at  the  College  of  Treguier,  poor,  exempt  from  all 
material  cares,^  esteemed  and  respected  like  them. 

Not  but  what  the  instincts  which  in  after  years  led 
me  away  from  these  paths  of  peace  already  existed 
within  me ;  but  they  were  dormant.  From  the 
accident  of  my  birth  I  was  torn  by  conflicting  forces. 
There  was  some  Basque  and  Bordeaux  blood  in  my 
mother's  family,  and  unbeknown  to  me  the  Gascon 
half  of  myself  played  all  sorts  of  tricks  with  the 
Breton  half.  Even  my  family  was  divided,  my 
father,  my  grandfather,  and  my  uncles  being,  as  I 
have  already  said,  the  reverse  of  clerical,  while  my 
maternal  grandmother  was  the  centre  of  a  society 
which  knew  no  distinction  between  royalism  and 
religion.  I  recently  found  among  some  old  papers 
a  letter  from  my  grandmother  addressed  to  an 
estimable  maiden  lady  named  Guyon,  who  used  to 
spoil  me  very  much  when  I  was  a  child,  and  who 
was  then  suffering  from  a  dreadful  cancer. 

"  Treguier,  March  19,  1831. 
"  Though  two  months  have  elapsed  since  NataHe 
informed  me  of  your  departure  for  Treglamus,  this  is 
the  first  time  I  have  had  a  few  moments  to  myself 
to  write  and  tell  you,  my  dear  friend,  how  deeply  I 
sympathize  with  you  in  your  sad  position.      Your 


120  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

sufferings  go  to  my  heart,  and  nothing  but  the  most 
urgent  necessity  has  prevented  me  from  writing  to 
you  before.  The  death  of  a  nephew,  the  eldest  son  of 
my  defunct  sister,  plunged  us  into  great  sorrov/.  A 
few  days  later,  poor  little  Ernest,  son  of  my  eldest 
daughter  and  a  brother  of  Henriette,  the  boy  whom 
you  were  so  fond  of  and  who  has  not  forgotten  you, 
fell  ill.  For  forty  days  he  was  hanging  between  life 
and  death,  and  we  have  now  reached  the  fifty-fifth 
day  of  his  illness  and  still  he  does  not  make  much 
progress  towards  his  recovery.  He  is  pretty  well  in 
the  day  time,  but  his  nights  are  very  bad.  From  ten 
in  the  evening  to  five  or  six  in  the  morning,  he  is 
feverish  and  half-delirious.  I  have  said  enough  to 
excuse  myself  in  the  eyes  of  one  who  is  so  kind- 
hearted  and  who  will  forgive  me.  How  I  wish  I  was 
by  your  side  to  repay  you  the  attention  you  bestowed 
on  me  with  so  much  zeal  and  benevolence.  My  great 
grief  is  to  be  unable  to  help  you. 

'' March  20th. 

'*  I  was  sent  for  to  the  bedside  of  my  dear 
little  grandson,  and  I  was  obliged  to  break  off  my 
conversation  with  you,  which  I  now  resume,  my  dear 
friend,  to  exhort  you  to  put  all  your  trust  in  God. 
It  is  He  who  afflicts  us,  but  He  consoles  us  with  the 
hope  of  a  reward  far  beyond  what  we  suffer.     Let  us 


ST,  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  121 

be  of  good  cheer  ;  our  pains  and  our  sorrows  do  not 
last  long,  and  the  reward  is  eternal. 

"  Dear  NataHe  tells  me  how  patient  and  resigned 
you  are  amid  the  most  cruel  sufferings.  That  is 
quite  in  keeping  with  your  high  feelings.  She  says 
that  never  a  complaint  comes  from  you,  however 
keen  your  pain.  How  pleasing  you  are  in  God's 
sight  by  your  patience  and  resignation  to  His 
heavenly  will.  He  afflicts  you,  but  those  whom  He 
loveth  He  chasteneth.  What  joy  can  be  compared 
to  that  which  God's  love  gives?  I  send  you  rAine 
sur  le  Calvaire,  which  will  furnish  you  with  much 
consolation  in  the  example  of  a  God  who  suffered 

and  died  for  us.     Madame  D will  be  so  kind,  I 

am  sure,  as  to  read  you  a  chapter  of  it  every  day,  if 
you  cannot  read  yourself.  Give  her  my  kindest  re- 
gards, and  beg  her  to  write  and  tell  me  how  you  are 
going  on,  and  how  she  is  herself.  If  you  will  not 
think  me  troublesome  I  will  write  to  you  more  fre- 
quently. Good-bye,  my  dear  friend.  May  God  pour 
upon  you  His  grace  and  blessing.     Be  patient  and 

of  good  cheer. 

'^  Your  ever  devoted  friend, 

^^  Widow.  .  .  ." 

"  In  taking  the  Communion  to-day  my  prayers 
were  specially  for  you.  My  daughter,  Henriette, 
and  Ernest,  who  has  passed  a  much  better  night, 


122  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

beg  to  be  remembered,  as  also  does  Clara.  We  often 
talk  of  you.  Let  me  know  how  you  are,  I  beg  of 
you.  When  you  have  read  VAme  sur  le  Calvaire 
you  can  send  it  back  to  me,  and  I  will  let  you  have 
V Esprit  Consolateury 

The  letter. and  the  books  were  never  sent,  for  my 
mother,  who  was  to  have  forwarded  them,  learnt 
that  Mademoiselle  Guyon  had  died.  Some  of  the 
consolatory  remarks  which  the  letter  contains  may 
seem  very  trite,  but  are  there  any  better  ones  to 
offer  a  person  afflicted  with  cancer?  They  are,  at 
all  events,  as  good  as  laudanum.  As  a  matter  of 
factjJae-Revolution  had  left  no  impress  upon  the 
people  among  whom  I  lived.  The  religious  ideas 
of  the  people  were  not  touched  ;  the  congregations 
came  together  again,  and  the  nuns  of  the  old  orders, 
converted  into  schoolmistresses,  imparted  to  women 
the  same  education  as  before.  Thus  my  sister's  " 
first  mistress  was  an  old  Ursuline  nun,  who  was  very 
fond  of  her,  and  who  made  her  learn  by  heart  the 
psalms  which  are  chanted  in  church.  After  a  year 
or  two  the  worthy  old  lady  had  reached  the  end  of 
her  tether,  and  was  conscientious  enough  to  come 
and  tell  my  mother  so.  She  said,  "  I  have  nothing  ^^ 
more  to  teach  her  ;  she  knows  all  that  I  know  better/ 
than  I  do  myself.''  The  Catholic  faith  revived  in 
these  remote  districts,  with  all  its  respectable  gravity 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  1 23 

and,  fortunately  for  it,  disencumbered  of  the  worldly 
and  temporal  bonds  which  the  ancient  regime  had 
forged  for  it. 

This  complexity  of  origin  is,  I  believe,  to  a  great 
extent  the  cause  of  my  seeming  inconsistency.  I 
am  double,  as  it  were,  and  one-half  of  me  laughs 
while  the  other  weeps.  This  is  the  explanation  of 
my  cheerfulness.  As  I  am  two  spirits  in  one  body, 
one  of  them  has  always  cause  to  be  content.  While 
upon  the  one  hand  I  was  only  anxious  to  be  a  village 
priest  or  tutor  in  a  seminary,  I  was  all  the  time 
dreaming  the  strangest  dreams.  During  divine  ser- 
vice I  used  to  fall  into  long  reveries ;  my  eyes 
wandered  to  the  ceiling  of  the  chapel,  upon  which  I 
read  all  sorts  of  strange  things.  My  thoughts 
wandered  to  the  great  men  whom  we  read  of  in 
history.  I  was  playing  one  day,  when  six  years  old, 
with  one  of  my  cousins  and  other  friends,  and  we 
amused  ourselves  by  selecting  our  future  professions. 
"And  what  will  you  be?"  my  cousin  asked  me. 
*^  I  shall  make  books."  "  You  mean  that  you  will 
be  a  bookseller."  "  Oh,  no,"  I  replied,  "  I  mean 
to  make  books — to  compose  them." 

These  dawning  dispositions  needed  time  and  favor- 
able circumstances  to  be  developed,  and  what  w^as 
so  completely  lacking  in  all  my  surroundings  was 
abihty.     My  worthy  tutors  were  not  endowed  with 


124  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

any  seductive  qualities.  With  their  unswerving 
moral  solidity,  they  were  the  very  contrary  of  the 
southerners — of  the  Neapolitan,  for  instance,  who 
is  all  glitter  and  clatter.  Ideas  did  not  ring  within 
their  minds  with  the  sonorous  clash  of  crossing 
swords.  Their  head  was  like  what  a  Chinese  cap 
without  bells  would  be;  you  might  shake  it,  but 
it  would  not  jingle.  That  which  constitutes  the 
essencc-of  talent,  the  desire  to  show  off  one's 
thoughts  to  the  best  advantage,  would  have  seemed 
to  them  sheer  frivolity,  like  women's  love  of  dress, 
which  they  denounced  as  a  positive  sin.  This 
excessive  abnegation  of  self,  this  too  ready  dis- 
position to  repulse  what  the  world  at  large  likes 
by  an  abrenuntio  tibi,  Satana,  is  fatal  to  literature. 
It  will  be  said,  perhaps,  that  literature  necessarily 
implies  more  or  less  of  sin.  If  the  Gascon  ten- 
dency to  elude  many  difficulties  with  a  joke  which 
I  derived  from  my  mother,  had  always  been 
dormant  in  me,  my  spiritual  welfare  would  per- 
haps have  been  assured.  In  any  event,  if  I  had 
remained  in  Brittany  I  should  never  have  known 
anything  of  the  vanity  which  the  public  has  liked 
and  encouraged — that  of  attaining  a  certain  amount 
of  art  in  the  arrangement  of  words  and  ideas.  Had 
I  lived  in  Brittany  I  should  have  written  like  RoUin. 
When  I  came  to  Paris  I  had  no  sooner  given  people 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CIIARDONNET,  1 25 

a  taste  of  what  few  qualities  I  possessed  than  they 
took  a  liking  for  them,  and  so — to  my  disadvantage 
it  may  be — I  was  tempted  to  go  on. 

I  will  at  some  future  time-  describe  how  it  came  to 
pass  that  special  circumstances  brought  about  this 
change,  which  I  underwent  without  being  at  heart 
in  the  least  inconsistent  with  my  past.  I  had  formed 
such  a  serious  idea  of  religious  belief  and  duty  that 
it  was  impossible  for  me,  when  once  my  faith  faded, 
to  wear  the  mask  which  sits  so  lightly  upon  many 
others.  But  the  impress  remained,  and  though  I  was 
not  a  priest  by  profession  I  was  so  in  disposition. 
All  my  failings  sprung  from  that.  My  first  masters 
taught  me  to  despise  laymen,  and  inculcated  the  idea 
that  the  man  who  has  not  a  mission  in  life  is  the 
scum  of  the  earth.  Thus  it  is  that  I  have  had  a 
strong  and  unfair  bias  against  the  commercial,  classes. 
Upon  the  other  hand,  I  am  very  fond  of  the  people, 
and  especially  of  the  poor.  I  am  the  only  man  of 
my  time  who  has  understood  the  characters  of  Jesus 
and  of  Francis  of  Assisi.  There  was  a  danger  of  my 
thus  becoming  a  democrat  like  Lamennais.  But 
Lamennais  merely  exchanged  one  creed  for  another, 
and  it  was  not  until  the  close  of  his  life  that  he 
acquired  the  cool  temper  necessary  to  the  critic, 
whereas  the  same  process  which  weaned  me  from 
Christianity  made  me  impervious  to  any  other  prac- 


126  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

tical  enthusiasm.  It  was  the  very  philosophy  of 
knowledge  which,  in  my  revolt  against  scholasticism, 
underwent  such  a  profound  modification. 

A  more  serious  drawback  is  that,  having  never 
indulged  in  gayety  while  young,  and  yet  having  a 
good  deal  of  irony  and  cheerfulness  in  my  tempera-  . 
ment,  I  have  been  compelled,  at  an  age  when  we  see 
how  vain  and  empty  it  all  is,  to  be  very  lenient,  as 
regards  foibles  which  I  had  never  indulged  in  myself, 
so  much  so  that  many  persons  who  have  not  perhaps 
been  as  steady  as  I  was  have  been  shocked  at  my 
easy-going  indifference.  This  holds  especially  true 
of  politics.  This  is  a  matter  upon  which  I  feel  easier 
in  my  mind  than  upon  any  other,  and  yet  a  great 
many  people  look  upon  me  as  being  very  lax. 
I  cannot  get  out  of  my  head  the  idea  that  perhaps 
the  libertine  is  right  after  all,  and  practices  the  true 
philosophy  of  life.  This  has  led  me  to  express  too 
much  admiration  for  such  men  as  Sainte  Beuve  and 
Theophile  Gautier.  Their  affectation  of  immorality 
prevented  me  from  seeing  how  incoherent  their 
philosophy  was.  The  fear  of  appearing  pharisaical, 
the  idea,  evangelical  in  itself,  that  he  who  is  im- 
maculate has  the  right  to  be  indulgent,  and  the 
dread  of  misleading,  if  by  chance  all  the  doctrines 
emitted  by  the  professors  of  philosophy  were  wrong, 
made  my  system  of  morality  appear  rather  shaky. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  12/ 

It  is,  in  reality,  as  solid  as  the  rock.  These  little 
liberties  which  I  allow  myself  are  by  way  of  a  rec- 
ompense for  my  strict  adherence  to  the  general  code. 
So  in  politics  I  indulge  in  reactionary  remarks  so  that 
I  may  not  have  the  appearance  of  a  Liberal  under- 
strapper. I  don't  want  people  to  take  me  for  being 
more  of  a  dupe  than  I  am  in  reality;  I  would  not 
upon  any  account  trade  upon  my  opinions,  and  what 
I  especially  dread  is  to  appear  in  my  own  eyes  to 
be  passing  bad  money.  Jesus  has  influenced  me 
more  in  this  respect  than  people  may  think,  for  He 
loved  to  show  up  and  deride  hypocrisy,  and  in  Hjs 
parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  He  places  morality  upon 
its  true  footing — kindness  of  heart — while  seeming 
to  upset  it  altogether. 

To  the  same  cause  may  be  attributed  another  of 
my  defects,  a  tendency  to  waver,  which  has  almost 
neutralized  my  power  of  giving  verbal  expression  to 
my  thoughts  in  many  matters.  The  priest  carries 
his  sacred  character  into  every  relation  of  life,  and 
there  is  a  good  deal  of  what  is  conventional  about 
what  he  says.  In  this  respect,  I  have  remained  a 
priest,  and  this  is  all  the  more  absurd  because  I 
do  not  derive  any  benefit  either  for  myself  or  for 
my  opinions.  In  my  writings,  I  have  been  out- 
spoken to  a  degree.  Not  only  have  I  never  said 
anything  which  I  do  not  think,  but,  what  is  much 


128  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

less  frequent  and  far  more  difficult,  I  have  said  all 
I  think.  But  in  talking  and  in  letter-writing,  I  am 
at  times  singularly  weak.  I  do  not  attach  any  im- 
portance to  this,  and,  with  the  exception  of  the 
select  few  between  whom  and  myself  there  is  a  bond 
of  intellectual  brotherhood,  I  say  to  people  just  what 
I  think  is  likely  to  please  them.  In  the  society  of  \/ 
fashionable  people  I  am  utterly  lost.  I  get  into  a  A 
muddle  and  flounder  about,  losing  the  thread  of  my 
,  ^  ideas  in  some  tissue  of  absurdity.  With  an  inveterate 
\  )r  habit  of  being  over  polite,  as  priests  generally  are, 
[  \  I  am  too  anxious  to  detect  what  the  person  I  am 
talking  with  would  like  said  to  him.  My  attention, 
when  I  am  conversing  with  any  one,  is  engrossed  in 
trying  to  guess  at  his  ideas,  and,  from  an  excess 
of  deference,  to  anticipate  him  in  the  expression  of 
them.  This  is  based  upon  the  supposition  that  very 
few  men  are  so  far  unconcerned  as  to  their  own  ideas 
as  not  to  be  annoyed  when  one  differs  from  them. 
I  only  express  myself  freely  with  people  whose 
opinions  I  know  to  sit  lightly  upon  them,  and  who 
look  down  upon  everything  with  good-natured  con- 
tempt. My  correspondence  will  be  a  disgrace  to  me 
if  it  should  be  published  after  my  death.  It  is  a 
perfect  torture  for  me  to  write  a  letter.  I  can  un- 
derstand a  person  airing  his  talents  before  ten  as 
before  ten  thousand  persons,  but  before  one !     Be- 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  1 29 

fore  beginning  to  write,  I  hesitate  and  reflect,  and 
make  out  a  rough  copy  of  what  I  shall  say  ;  very 
often  I  go  to  sleep  over  it.  A  person  need  only  look 
at  these  letters  with  their  heavy  wording  and  abrupt 
sentences  to  see  that  they  were  composed  in  a  state 
of  torpor  which  borders  on  sleep,  Reading  over 
what  I  have  written,  I  see  that  it  is  poor  stuff,  and 
that  I  have  said  many  things  which  I  cannot  vouch 
for.  In  despair,  I  fasten  down  the  envelope,  with 
the  feeling  that  I  have  posted  a  letter  which  is  be- 
neath criticism. 

In  short,  all  my  defects  are  those  of  the  young 
ecclesiastical  student  of  Treguier.  I  was  born  to  be 
a  priest,  as  others  are  born  to  be  soldiers  and  law- 
yers. The  very  fact  of  my  being  successful  in  my 
studies  was  a  proof  of  it.  What  was  the  good  of 
learning  Latin  so  thoroughly  if  it  was  not  for  the 
Church  ?  A  peasant,  noticing  all  my  dictionaries 
upon  one  occasion,  observed  :  "  These,  I  suppose, 
are  the  books  which  people  study  when  they  are 
preparing  for  the  priesthood.'*  As  a  matter  of  fact, 
all  those  who  studied  at  school  at  all  were  in  training 
for  the  ecclesiastical  profession.  The  priestly  order 
stood  on  a  par  with  the  nobility  :  "  When  you  meet 
a  noble,"  I  have  heard  it  observed,  ^*  you  salute  him, 
because  he  represents  the  king ;  when  you  meet  a 
priest,  you  salute  him  because  he  represents  God.** 
6^^ 


I30  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

To  make  a  priest  was  regarded  as  the  greatest  of 
good  works  ;  and  the  elderly  spinsters  who  had  a 
little  money  thought  that  they  could  not  find  a  bet- 
ter use  for  it  than  in  paying  the  college  fees  of  a 
poor  but  hard-working  young  peasant.  When  he 
came  to  be  a  priest,  he  became  their  own  child,  their 
glory,  and  their  honor.  They  followed  him  in  his 
career,  and  watched  over  his  conduct  with  jealous 
care.  As  a  natural  consequence  of  my  assiduity  in 
study  I  was  destined  for  the  priesthood.  Moreover, 
I  was  of  sedeatary  habits  and  too  weak  of  muscle  to 
distinguish  myself  in  athletic  sports.  I  had  an  uncle 
of  a  Voltairian  turn  pf  mind,  who  did  not  at  all 
approve  of  this.  He  was  a  watchmaker,  and  had 
reckoned  upon  me  to  take  on  his  business.  My  suc- 
cesses were  as  gall  and  wormwood  to  him,  for  he 
quite  saw  that  all  this  store  of  Latin  was  dead 
against  him,  and  that  it  would  convert  me  into  a 
pillar  of  the  Church  which  he  disliked.  He  never 
lost  an  opportunity  of  airing  before  me  his  favorite 
phrase,  '^  a  donkey  loaded  with  Latin."  Afterward, 
when  my  writings  were  published,  he  had  his  tri- 
umph. I  sometimes  reproach  myself  for  having 
contributed  to  the  triumph  of  M.  Homais  over  his 
priest.  But  it  cannot  be  helped,  for  M.  Homais  is 
right.  But  for  M.  Homais  we  should  all  be  burnt 
at  the  stake.    But  as  I  have  said,  when  one  has  been 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  "    I3I 

at  great  pains  to  learn  the  truth,  it  is  irritating  to 
have  to  allow  that  the  frivolous,  who  could  never 
be  induced  to  read  a  line  of  St.  Augustine  or  St. 
Thomas  Aquinas,  are  the  true  sages.  It  is  hard  to 
think  that  Gavroche  and  M.  Homais  attain  without 
an  effort  the  Alpine  heights  of  philosophy. 

My  young  compatriot  and  friend,  M.  Quellien, 
a  Breton  poet  full  of  raciness  and  originality,  the 
only  man  of  the  present  day  whom  I  have  knov/n  to 
possess  the  faculty  of  creating  myths,  has  described 
this  phase  of  my  destiny  in  a  very  ingenious  style. 
He  says  that  my  soul  will  dwell,  m  the  shape  of 
a  white  sea-bird,  around  the  ruined  church  of  St. 
Michel,  an  old  building  struck  by  lightning  which 
stands  above  Treguier.  The  bird  will  fly  all  night 
with  plaintive  cries  around  the  barricaded  door  and 
windows,  seeking  to  enter  the  sanctuary,  but  not 
knowing  that  there  is  a  secret  door.  And  so  through 
all  eternity  my  unhappy  spirit  will  moan  ceaselessly 
upon  this  hill.  ''  It  is  the  spirit  of  a  priest  who 
wants  to  say  mass,"  one  peasant  will  observe. — *^  He 
will  never  find  a  boy  to  serve  it  for  him,"  will  rejoin 
another.  And  that  is  what  I  really  am — an  incom-- 
plete  priest.  Quellien  has  very  clearly  discerned 
what  will  always  be  lacking  in  my  church — the  chor- 
ister boy.  My  life  is  like  a  mass  which  has  some 
fatality  hanging  over  it,  a  never-ending  Iniroibo  ad 


132  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH, 

alt  are  Dei  with  no  one  to  respond  :  Ad  deum  qui 
latifieat  juveittutem  meam.  There  is  no  one  to  serve 
my  mass  for  me.  In  default  of  any  one  else  I  re- 
spond for  myself,  but  it  is  not  the  same  thing. 

Thus  everything  seemed  to  make  for  my  having  a 
modest  ecclesiastical  career  in   Brittany.     I  should 
have  made  a  very  good  priest,  indulgent,  fatherly,  y 
charitable,  and  of  blameless  morals.     I  should  have  >/ 
been  as  a  priest  what  I  am  as  a  father,  very  much  v 
loved   by  my  flock,  and   as   easy-going  as  possible  v 
in  the  exercise  of  my  authority.     What    are    now  ^ 
defects   would    have    been    good   qualities.      Some 
of    the    errors   which    I    profess  would    have   been 
just  the  thing  for  a  man  who  identifies  himself  with 
the  spirit  of  his  calling.     I  should  have  got  rid  of 
some  excrescences  which,  being  only  a  layman,  I  have 
not  taken  the  trouble  to  remove,  easy  as  it  would  have 
been  for  me  to  do  so.     My  career  would  have  been  as 
follows :  at  two-and-twenty  professor  at  the  College 
of  Treguier,  and  at  about  fifty  canon,  or  perhaps 
grand  vicar  at   St.  Brieuc,  very  conscientious,  very 
generally  respected,  a  kind-hearted  and  gentle  con- 
fessor.    Little  inclined  to  new  dogmas,  I  should  have 
been  bold  enough  to  say  with  many  good  ecclesiastics 
after  the  Vatican  Council :   Positi  custodiam  ori  meo. 
My  antipathy^  for  the  Jesuits  would  have  shown  itself 
by  never   alluding   to    them,   and    a    fund  of   mild 


.     ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  1 33 

Gallicanism  would   have   been  veiled   beneath   the 
semblance  of  a  profound  knowledge  of  canon  law. 

An  extraneous  incident  altered  the  whole  current 
of  my  life.  From  the  most  obscure  of  little  towns  in 
the  most  remote  of  provinces  I  was  thrust  without 
preparation  into  the  A(ortex  of  all  that  is  most  sprightly ' 
and  alert  in  Parisian  society.  The  world  stood 
revealed  to  me,  and  myself  became  a  double  one. 
The  Gascon  got  the  better  of  the  Breton ;  there  was 
no  more  custodio  oris  mei^  and  I  put  aside  the 
padlock  which  I  should  otherwise  have  set  upon 
my  mouth.  In  so  far  as  regards  my  inner  self  I 
reniained  the  same.  But  what  a  change  in  the  out- 
ward show!  Hitherto  I  had  lived  in  a  hypogeej^ 
lighted  by  smoky  lamps ;  now  I  was  going  t(/see  the 
sun  and  the  light  of  day. 


OcX^     ' 


THE  PETTY  SEMINARY. 

PART   II. 

About  the  month  of  April,  1838,  M.  de  Talleyrand, 
feeling  his  end  draw  near,  thought  it  necessary  to  act 
a  last  lie  in  accordance  with  human  prejudices,  and  he 
resolved  to  be  reconciled,  in  appearance,  to  a  Church 
whose  truth,  once  acknowledged  by  him,  convicted 
him  of  sacrilege  and  of  dishonor.  This  ticklish  job 
could  best  be  performed,  not  by  a  staid  priest  of  the 
old  Gallican  school,  who  might  have  insisted  upon  a 
categorical  r^etractat-ion  of  errors,  upon  his  making 
amends  and  upon  his  doing  penance  ;  not  by  a  young 
ultramontane  of  the  new  school,  against  whom  M.  de 
Talleyrand  would  at  once  have  been  very  prejudiced, 
but  by  a  priest  who  was  a  man  of  the  world,  v/ell 
read,  very  little  of  a  philosopher,  and  nothing  of  a 
theologian,  and  upon  those  terms  with  the  ancient 
classes  which  alone  give  the  Gospel  occasional  access 
to  circles  for  which  it  is  not  suited.  Abbe  Dupanloup, 
already  well  known  for  his  success  at  the  Catechism 
of  the  Assumption  among  a  public  which  set  more 
store  by  elegant  phrases  than  doctrine,  was  just  the 
134 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  1 35 

man  to  play  an  innocent  part  in  the  comedy  which 
simple  souls  would  regard  as  an  edifying  act  of  grace. 
His  intimacy  with  the  Duchesse  de  Dino,  and  espe- 
cially with  her  daughter,  whose  religious  education 
he  had  conducted,  the  favor  in  which  he  was  held  by 
M.  de  Quelen  (Archbishop  of  Paris),  and  the  patron- 
age which  from  the  outset  of  his  career  had  been 
accorded  him  by  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  all 
concurred  to  fit  him  for  a  work  which  required  more 
worldly  tact  than  theology,  and  in  which  both  earth 
and  heaven  were  to  be  fooled. 

It  is  said  that  M.  de  Talleyrand,  remarking  a  cer- 
tain hesitation  on  the  part  of  the  priest  who  was 
about  to  convert  him,  ejaculated  :  ^^  This  young  man 
does  not  know  his  business."  If  he  really  did  make 
this  remark,  he  was  very  much  mistaken.  Never  was 
a  priest  better  up  in  his  calling  than  this  young  man. 
The  aged  statesman,  resolved  not  to  erase  his  past 
until  the  very  last  hour,  met  all  the  entreaties  made 
to  him  with  a  sullen  ''  not  yet."  The  Sto  ad  ostiiun  ct 
pulso  had  to  be  brought  into  play  with  great  tact.  A 
fainting-fit  or  a  sudden  acceleration  in  the  progress 
of  the  death-agony  would  be  fatal,  and  too  much 
importunity  might  bring  out  a  ^'  No  "  which  would 
upset  the  plans  so  skilfully  laid.  Upon  the  morning 
of  May  17th,  which  was  the  day  of  his  death,  nothing 
was  yet  signed.     Catholics,  as  is  well  known,  attach 


136  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

very  great  importance  to  the  moment  of  death.  If 
future  rewards  and  punishments  have  any  real  exist- 
ence, it  is  evident  that  they  must  be  proportioned  to 
a  whole  life  of  virtue  or  of  vice.  But  the  Catholic 
does  not  look  at  it  in  this  light,  and  an  edifying 
V  death-bed  makes  up  for  all  other  things.  Salvation 
is  left  to  the  chances  of  the  eleventh  hour.  Time 
pressed,  and  it  was  resolved  to  play  a  bold  game. 
M.  Dupanloup  was  waiting  in  the  next  room,  and  he 
sent  the  winsome  daughter  of  the  Duchesse  de 
Dino,  of  whom  Talleyrand  was  always  so  fond,  to 
ask  if  he  might  come  in.  The  answer,  for  a  wonder, 
was  in  the  affirmative,  and  the  priest  spent  several 
minutes  with  him,  bringing  out  from  the  sick-room 
a  paper  signed  "'  Charles  Maurice  de  Talleyrand- 
Perigord,  Prince  de  Benevent." 

There  was  joy — if  not  in  heaven,  at  all  events  in 
the  Catholic  world  of  the  Faubourgs  St.  Germain 
and  St.  Honore.  The  credit  of  this  victory  was 
ascribed  in  the  main,  to  the  female  grace  which  had 
succeeded  in  getting  round  the  aged  prince,  and  in- 
ducing him  to  retract  the  whole  of  his  revolutionary 
past,  but  some  of  it  went  to  the  youthful  ecclesiastic 
who  had  displayed  so  much  tact  in  bringing  to  a 
satisfactory  conclusion  a  project  in  which  it  was  so 
easy  to  fail.  M.  Dupanloup  was  from  that  day  one 
of   the  first  of    French  priests.      Position,    honors, 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  13/ 

and  money  were  pressed  upon  him  by  the  wealthy 
and  influential  classes  in  Paris.  The  money  he  ac- 
cepted, but  do  not  for  a  moment  suppose  that  it  was 
for  himself,  as  there  never  was  any  one  so  unselfish 
as  M.  Dupanloup.  The  quotation  from  the  Bible 
which  was  oftenest  upon  his  lips,  and  which  was 
doubly  a  favorite  one  with  him  because  it  was  truly 
Scriptural  and  happened  to  terminate  like  a  Latin 
verse,  was:  Da  niihi  animas ;  cetera  tolle  tibi.  He 
had  at  that  time  in  his  m,ind  the  general  outlines  of 
a  grand  propaganda  by  means  of  classical  and  re- 
ligious education,  and  he  threw  himself  into  it  with 
all  the  passionate  ardor  which  he  displayed  in  the 
undertakings  upon  which  he  embarked. 

The  seminary  Saint  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet, 
situated  by  the  side  of  the  church  of  that  name, 
between  the  Rue  Saint  Victor  and  the  Rue  de 
Pontoise,  had  since  the  Revolution  been  the  petty 
seminary  for  the  diocese  of  Paris.  This  was  not  its 
primitive  destination.  In  the  great  movement  of 
religious  reform  which  occurred  during  the  first  half 
of  the  seventeenth  century,  and  to  which  the  names 
of  Vincent  de  Paul,  Olier,  B^rulle,  and  Father 
Eudes  are  attached,  the  church  of  Saint  Nicholas 
du  Chardonnet  filled,  though  in  a  humbler  measure, 
the  same  part  as  Saint  Sulpice.  The  parish  of  Saint 
Nicholas,  which   derived   its  name  from   a  field    of 


138  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

thistles  well  known  to  students  at  the  University  of 
Paris  in  the  middle  ages,  was  then  the  centre  of  a 
very  wealthy  neighborhood,  the  principal  residents 
belonging  to  the  magistracy.  As  Olier  founded  the 
St.  Sulpice  Seminary,  so  Adrien  de  Bourdoise 
founded  the  company  of  Saint  Nicholas  du  Char- 
donnet,  and  made  this  establishment  a  nursery  for 
young  priests  which  lasted  until  the  Revolution.  It 
had  not,  however,  like  the  Saint  Sulpice  establish- 
ment, a  number  of  branch  houses  in  other  parts  of 
France.  Moreover,  the  association  was  not  revived 
after  the  Revolution  like  that  of  Saint  Sulpice,  and 
their  building  in  the  Rue  Saint  Victor  was  un- 
tenanted. At  the  'time  of  the  Concordat  it  was 
given  to  the  diocese  of  Paris,  to  be  used  as  a  petty 
seminary.  Up  to  1837,  this  establishment  did  not 
make  any  sort  of  a  name  for  itself.  The  brilliant 
Renaissance  of  learned  and  worldly  clericalism  dates 
from  the  decade  of  1830-40.  During  the  first  third 
of  the  century.  Saint  Nicholas  was  an  obscure  re- 
ligious establishment,  the  number.of  students  being 
below  the  requirements  of  the  diocese,  and  the  level 
of  study  a  very  low  one.  Abbe  Frere,  the  head  of 
the  seminary,  though  a  profound  theologian  and 
well  versed  in  the  mysticism  of  the  Christian  faith, 
was  not  in  the  least  suited  to.  rouse  and  stimulate 
lads  who  were    engaged   in    literary  study.      Saint 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  1 39 

Nicholas,  under  his  headship,  was  a  thoroughly 
ecclesiastical  establishment,  its  comparatively  few 
students  having  a  clerical  career  in  view,  and  the 
secular  side  of  education  was  passed  over  entirely. 

M.  de  Quelen  was  very  well  inspired  when  he  en- 
trusted the  management  of  this  college  to  M.  Du- 
panloup.  The  archbishop  was  not  the  man  to 
approve  of  the  strict  clericalism  of  Abbe  Frere. 
He  liked  piety,  but  worldly  and  well-bred  piety, 
without  any  scholastic  barbarisms  or  mystic  jargon  ; 
piety  as  a  complement  of  the  well-bred  ideal  which, 
to  tell  the  truth,  was  his  main  faith.  If  Hugues  or 
Richard  de  Saint  Victor  had  risen  up  before  him  in 
the  shape  of  pedants  or  boors  he  would  have  set 
little  store  by  them.  He  was  very  much  attached 
to  M.  Dupanloup,  who  was  at  that  time  Legitimist 
and  Ultramontane.  It  was  only  the  exaggerations 
of  a  later  day  which  so  changed  the  parts  that  he 
came  to  be  looked  upon  as  a  Gallican  and  an  Or- 
leanist.  M.  de  Quelen  treated  him  as  a  spiritual 
son,  sharing  his  dislikes  and  his  prejudices.  He 
doubtless  knew  the  secret  of  his  birth.  The 
families  which  had  looked  after  the  young  priest 
had  made  him  a  man  of  breeding,  and  admitted  him 
into  their  exclusive  coterie,  were  those  with  which 
the  archbishop  was  intimate,  and  which  formed  in 
his  eyes  the  limits  of    the  universe.     I   remember 


140  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

seeing  M.  de  Quelen,  and  he  was  quite  the  type  of 
the  ideal  bishop  under  the  old  regime,  I  remember 
his  feminine  beauty,  his  perfect  figure,  and  the  easy 
grace  of  all  his  movements.  His  mind  had  received 
no  other  cultivation  than  that  of  a  well-educated  man 
of  the  world.  Religion  in  his  eyes  was  inseparable 
from  good  breeding  and  the  modicum  of  common 
sense  which  a  classical  education  is  apt  to  give. 

This  was  about  the  level  of  M.  Dupanloup^s  in- 
tellect. He  had  neither  the  brilliant  imagination 
which  will  give  a  lasting  value  to  certain  of  Lacor- 
daire's  and  Montalembert's  works,  nor  the  profound 
passion  of  Lamennais.  In  the  case  of  the  arch- 
bishop and  M.  Dupanloup,  good  breeding  and  polish 
were  the  main  thing,  and  the  approval  of  those  who 
stood  high  in  the  world  was  the  touchstone  of  merit. 
They  knew  nothing  of  theology,  which  they  had 
studied  but  little,  and  for  which  they  thought  it 
enough  to  express  platonic  reverence.  Their  faith 
was  very  keen  and  sincere,  but  it  v/as  a  faith  which 
took  everything  for  granted,  and  which  did  not  busy 
itself  with  the  dogmas  which  must  be  accepted. 
They  knew  that  scholasticism  would  not  go  down 
with  the  only  public  for  which  they  cared — the 
worldly  and  somewhat  frivolous  congregations  which 
sit  beneath  the  preachers  at  St.  Roch  or  St.  Thomas 
Aquinas. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  I4I 

Such  were  the  views  entertained  by  M.  de  Quelen 
when  he  made  over  to  M.  Dupanloup  the  austere 
and  httle-known  estabHshment  of  Abbe  Frere  and 
Adrien  de  Bourdoise.  The  petty  seminary  of  Paris 
had  hitherto,  by  virtue  of  the  Concordat,  been 
merely  a  training  school  for  the  clergy  of  Paris, 
quite  sufficient  for  its  purpose,  but  strictly  confined 
to  the  object  prescribed  by  the  lav/.  The  new  su- 
perior chosen  by  the  archbishop  had  far  higher  aims. 
He  set  to  work  to  reconstruct  the  whole  fabric,  from 
the  buildings  themselves,  of  which  only  the  old  vv^alls 
were  left  standing,  to  the  course  of  teaching,  which 
he  re-cast  entirely.  There  were  two  essential  points 
which  he  kept  before  him.  In  the  first  place  he  saw 
that  a  petty  seminary  which  was  altogether  ecclesi- 
astical could  not  answer  in  Paris,  and  would  never 
suffice  to  recruit  a  sufficient  number  of  priests  for 
the  diocese.  He  accordingly  utilized  the  infornla- 
tion  which  reached  him,  especially  from  the  west  of 
P>ance  and  from  his  native  Savoy,  to  bring  to  the 
college  any  youths  of  promise  whom  he  might  hear 
of.  Secondly,  he  determined  that  the  college  should 
become  a  model  place  of  education  instead  of  being 
a  strict  seminary  with  all  the  asceticism  of  a  place  in 
which  the  clerical  element  was  unalloyed  He  hoped 
to  let  the  same  course  of  education  serve  for  the 
young  men  studying  for  the  priesthood,  and  for  the 


142  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

sons  of  the  highest  famiHes  in  France.  His  success 
in  the  Rue  Saint  Florentin  (this  was  where  Tal- 
leyrand died)  had  made  him  a  favorite  with  the 
Legitimists,  and  he  had  several  useful  friends  among 
the  Orleanists.  Well  posted  in  all  the  fashionable 
changes,  and  neglecting  no  opportunity  for  pushing 
himself,  he  was  always  quick  to  adapt  himself  to  the 
spirit  of  the  time.  His  theory  of  what  the  \^orld 
should  be  was  a  very  aristocratic  one,  but  he  main- 
tained that  there  were  three  orders  of  aristocracy  : 
the  nobility,  the  clergy,  and  literature.  What  he 
wished  to  insure  was  a  liberal  education,  which 
would  be  equally  suitable  for  the  clergy  and  for 
the  youths  of  the  Faubourg  Saint 'Germain,  based 
upon  Christian  piety  and  classical  literature.  The 
study  of  science  was  almost  entirely  excluded,  and 
he  himself  had  not  even  a  smattering  of  it. 

•Thus  the  old  house  in  the  Rue  Saint  Victor  was 
for  many  years  the  rendezvous  of  youths  bearing  the 
most  famous  of  French  names,  and  it  was  considered 
a  very  great  favor  for  a  young  man  to  obtain  ad- 
mission. The  large  sums  which  many  rich  people 
paid  to  secure  admission  for  their  sons  served  to 
provide  a  free  education  for  young  men  without 
fortune  who  had  shown  signs  of  talent.  This  testi- 
fied to  the  unbounded  faith  of  M.  Dupanloup  in 
classical  learning.      He  looked  upon  these  classical 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  1 43 

studies  as  part  and  parcel  of  religion.  He  held  that 
youths  destined  for  holy  orders  and  those  who  were 
in  after  life  to  occupy  the  highest  social  positions 
should  both  receive  the  same  education.  Virgil,  he 
thought,  should  be  as  much  a  part  of  a  priest's  intel- 
lectual training  as  the  Bible.  He  hoped  that  the 
elite  of  his  theological  students  would,  by  their  associ- 
ation upon  equal  terms  with  young  men  of  good  fam- 
ily acquire  more  polish  and  a  higher  social  tone  than 
can  be  obtained  in  seminaries  peopled  by  peasants* 
sons.  He  was  wonderfully  successful  in  this  respect. 
The  college,  though  consisting  of  two  elements  ap- 
parently incongruous,  was  remarkable  for  its  unity. 
The  knowledge  that  talent  overrode  all  other  con- 
siderations prevented  anything  like  jealousy,  and  by 
the  end  of  a  week  the  poorest  youth  from  the  prov- 
inces, awkward  and  simple  as  he  might  be,  was  envied 
by  the  young  millionaire — who,  little  as  he  might 
know  it,  was  paying  for  his  schooling — if  he  had 
turned  out  some  good  Latin  verses,  or  written  a 
clever  exercise. 

In  the  year  1836,  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  win 
all  the  prizes  in  my  class  at  the  Treguier  College. 
The  palmares  happened  to  be  seen  by  one  of  the 
enlightened  men  whom  M.  Dupanloup  employed  to 
recruit  his  youthful,  army.  My  fate  was  settled  in 
a  twinkling,  and  "  Have  him  sent  for,"  was  the  order 


144  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

of  the  impulsive  Superior.  I  was  fifteen  and  a  half 
years  old,  and  we  had  no  time  to  reflect.  I  was 
spending  the  holidays  with  a  friend  in  a  village 
near  Tr^guier,  and  in  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  of 
September  I  was  sent  for  in  haste.  I  remember  my 
returning  home  as  well  as  if  it  was  only  yesterday. 
We  had  a  league  to  travel  through  the  country. 
The  vesper  bell  with  its  soft  cadence  echoing  from 
steeple  to  steeple  awoke  a  sensation  of  gentle  melan- 
choly, the  image  of  the  life  which  I  was  about  to 
abandon  forever.  The  next  day  I  started  for  Paris ; 
upon  the  7th  I  beheld  sights  which  were  as  novel  for 
me  as  if  I  had  been  suddenly  landed  in  France  from 
Tahiti  or  Timbuctoo. 


THE    PETTY   SEMINARY. 

PART    III. 

No  Buddhist  Lama  or  Mussulman  Fakir,  suddenly 
translated  from  Asia  to  the  Boulevards  of  Paris,  could 
have  been  more  taken  aback  that  I  was  upon  being 
suddenly  landed  in  a  place  so  different  from  that  in 
which  moved  my  old  Breton  priests,  who,  with  their 
venerable  heads  all  wood  or  granite,  remind  one  of  the 
Osirian  colossi  which  in  after  life  so  struck  my  fancy 
when  I  saw  them  in  Egypt,  grandiose  in  their  long 
lines  of  immemorial  calm.  My  coming  to  Paris 
marked  the  passage  from  one  religion  to  another. 
There  was  as  much  difference  between  Christianity 
as  I  left  in  Brittany  and  that  which  I  found  current 
in  Paris,  as  there  is  between  a  piece  of  old  cloth  as 
stiff  as  a  board,  and  a  bit  of  fine  cambric.  It  was  not 
the  same  religion.  ,  My  old  priests,  with  their  heavy 
old-fashioned  copes,  had  always  seemed  tome  like 
the  magi,  from  whose  lips  came  the  eternal  truths, 
whereas  the  new  religion  to  which  I  was  introduced 
was  all  print  and  calico,  a  piety  decked  out  with  rib- 
bons and  scented  with  musk,  a  devotion  which  found 
7  I4S 


146  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

expression  in  tapers  and  small  flower-pots,  a  young 
lady's  theology  without  stay  or  style,  as  composite 
as  the  polychrome  frontispiece  of  one  of  LebeFs 
prayer-bcLoks. 

This  was  the  gravest  crisis  in  my  life.  The  young 
Breton  does  not  bear  transplanting.  The  keen  moral 
repulsion  which  I  felt,  superadded  to  a  complete 
change  in  my  habits  and  mode  of  life,  brought  on  a 
very  severe  attack  of  home-sickness.  The  confine- 
ment to  the  college  was  intolerable.  The  remem- 
brance of  the  free  and  happy  life  which  I  had  hith- 
erto led  with  my  mother  went  to  my  very  heart.  I 
was  not  the  only  sufferer.  M.  Dupanloup  had  not 
calculated  all  the  consequences  of  his  policy.  Im- 
perious like  a  military  commander,  he  did  not  take 
into  account  the  deaths  and  casualties  which  oc- 
curred among  his  young  recruits.  We  confided  our 
sorrows  to  one  another.  My  most  intimate  friend, 
a  young  man  from  Coutances,  if  I  remember  right, 
who  had  been  transported  like  myself  from  a  happy 
home,  brooded  in  solitary  grief  over  the  change  and 
died.  The  natives  of  Savoy  were  even  less  easily 
acclimatized.  One  of  them,  who  was  rather  my 
senior,  confessed  to  me  that  every  evening  he  cal- 
culated the  distance  from  his  dormitory  on  the  third 
floor  to  the  pavement  in  the  street  below.  I  fell  ill, 
and  to   all  appearances  was  not  likely  to  recover. 


ST,  NICHOLAS  DU  CIIARDONNET,  I47 

The  melancholy  to  which  Bretons  are  so  subject  took 
hold  of  me.  The  memories  of  the  last  notes  of  the 
vesper  bell  which  I  had  heard  pealing  over  our  dear 
hills,  and  of  the  last  sunset  upon  our  peaceful  plains, 
pricked  me  like  pointed  darts. 

According  to  every  rule  of  medicine  I  ought  to 
Have  died ;  and  it  is  perhaps  a  pity  that  I  did  not. 
Two  friends  whom  I  brought  with  me  from  Brittany, 
in  the  following  year  gave  this  clear  proof  of  fidelity. 
The  could  not  accustom  themselves  to  this  new 
world,  and  they  left  it.  I  sometimes  think  that  the 
Breton  part  of  me  did  die;  the  Gascon,  unfortu- 
nately found. sufficient  reason  for  living!  The  latter 
discovered,  too,  that  this  new  world  was  a  very  cu- 
rious one,  and  was  well  worth  clinging  to.  It  was  to 
him  who  had  put  me  to  this  severe  test  that  I  owed 
my  escape  from  death.  I  am  indebted  to  M.  Dupan- 
loup  for  two  things :  for  having  brought  me  to  Paris, 
and  for  having  saved  me  from  dying  when  I  got 
there.  He  naturally  did  not  concern  himself  much 
about  me  at  first.  The  most  eagerly  sought-after 
priest  m  Paris,  with  an  establishment  of  two  hundred 
students  to  superintend,  or  rather  to  found,  could  not 
be  expected  to  take  any  deep  personal  interest  in  an 
obscure  youth.  A  peculiar  incident  formed  a  bond 
between  us.  The  real  cause  of  my  suffering  was  the 
ever-present  souvenir  of  my  mother.    Having  always 


148  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

lived  alone  with  her,  I  could  not  tear  myself  away 
from  the  recollection  of  the  peaceful  happy  life 
which  I  had  led  year  after  year.  I  had  been  happy, 
and  I  had  been  poor  with  hen  A  thousand  details 
of  this  very  poverty,  which  absence  made  all  the 
more  touching,  searched  out  my  very  heart.  At 
night  I  was  always  thinking  of  her,  and  I  could 
get  no  sleep.  My  only  consolation  was  to  write 
her  letters  full  of  tender  feeling  and  moist  with 
tears.  Our  letters,  as  is  the  usage  in  religious  estab- 
lishments, were  read  by  one  of  the  masters.  He 
was  so  struck  by  the  tone  of  deep  affection  which 
pervaded  my  boyish  utterances  that  he  showed  one 
of  them  to  M.  Dupanloup,  who  was  very  much  sur- 
prised when  he  read  it. 

The  noblest  trait  in  M.  Dupanloup*s  character  was 
his  affection  for  his  mother.  Though  his  birth  was, 
in  one  way,  the  greatest  trouble  of  his  life,  he 
worshiped  his  mother.  She  lived  with  him,  and 
though  we  never  saw  her,  we  knew  that  he  always 
spent  so  much  time  with  her  every  day.  He  often 
said  that  a  man's  worth  is  to  be  measured  by  the 
respect  he  pays  to  his  mother.  He  gave  us  excellent 
advice  upon  this  head,  which  I  never  failed  to 
follow,  as,  for  instance,  never  to  address  her  in  the 
second  person  singular,  or  to  end  a  letter  without 
using  the  word  respect.     This  created  a  connecting 


ST,  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  I49 

link  between  us.  My  letter  was  shown  to  him  on 
a  Friday,  upon  which  evening  the  reports  for  the 
week  were  always  read  out  before  him.  I  had  not, 
upon  that  occasion,  done  very  well  with  my  com- 
position, being  only  fifth  or  sixth.  "  Ah  !  "  he  said, 
"  if  the  subject  had  been  that  of  a  letter  which  I  read 
this  morning,  Ernest  Renan  would  have  been  first.'* 
From  that  time  forth  he  noticed  me.  He  recognized 
the  fact  of  my  existence,  and  I  regarded  him,  like 
we  all  did,  as  a  principle  of  life,  a  sort  of  god. 
One  worship  took  the  place  of  another,  and  the 
sentiment  inspired  by  my  early  teachers  gradually 
died  out. 

Only  those  who  knew  Saint  Nicholas  du  Char- 
donnet  during  the  brilliant  period  from  1838  to  1844 
can  form  an  adequate  idea  of  the  intense  life  which 
prevailed  there.'''  And  this  life  had  only  one  source, 
one  principle  :  M.  Dupanloup  himself.  The  whole 
work  fell  on  his  shoulders.  Regulations,  usage  ad- 
jninistration,  the  spiritual  and  temporal  government 
of  the  college,  were  all  centred  in  him.  The  college 
was  full  of  defects,  but  he  made  up  for  them  all.  As 
a  writer  and  an  orator  he  was  only  second-rate,  but 
as  an  educator  of  youth  he  had  no  equal.     The  old 

*A  very  graphic  description  of  it  has  been  given  by  M.  Adolphe 
INIorillon  in  his  Souvenirs  dc  Sauit  Nicolas  :     Paris.      Licoffre. 


150      >/     RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

rules  of  Saint  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet  provided,  as 
in  all  other  seminaries,  that  half  an  hour  should  be 
devoted  every  evening  to  what  was  known  as  spirit- 
ual reading.  Before  M.  Dupanloup's  time,  the  read- 
ings were  from  some  ascetic  book  such  as  the  Lives 
of  the  Fathers  in  the  Desert,  but  he  took  this  half 
hour  for  himself,  and  every  evening  he  put  himself 
into  direct  communication  with  all  his  pupils  by  the 
medium  of  a  familiar  conversation,  which  was  so 
natural  and  unrestrained  that  it  might  often  have 
borne  comparison  with  the  homilies  of  John  Chry- 
sostom  in  the  Palaea  of  Antioch.  Any  incident  in 
the  inner  life  of  the  college,  any  occurrence  directly 
concerning  himself  or  one  of  the  pupils,  furnished  the 
theme  for  a  brief  and  lively  soliloquy.  The  reading 
of  the  reports  on  Friday  was  still  more  dramatic  and 
personal,  and  we  all  anticipated  that  day  with  a  mixt- 
ure of  hope  and  apprehension.  The  observations 
with  which  he  interlarded  the  reading  of  the  notes 
were  charged  with  life  and  death.  There  was  no  mode- 
of  punishment  in  force  ;  the  reading  of  the  notes  and 
the  reflections  which  he  made  upon  them  being  the 
sole  means  which  he  employed  to  keep  us  all  on  the 
qui  vive.  This  system,  doubtless,  had  its  drawbacks. 
Worshiped  by  his  pupils,  M.  Dupanloup  was  not 
always  liked  by  his  fellow-workers.  I  have  been  told 
that  it  was  the  same  in  his  diocese,  and  that  he  was 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  151 

always  a  greater  favorite  with  his  laymen  than  with 
his  priests.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  he  put 
every  one  about  him  into  the  background.  But  his 
very  violence  made  us  like  him,  for  we  felt  that  all 
his  thoughts  were  concentrated  on  us.  He  was  with- 
out an  equal  in  the  art  of  rousing  his  pupils  to  exer- 
tion, and  of  getting  the  maximum  amount  of  work 
out  of  each.  Each  pupil  had  a  distinct  existence  in 
his  mind,  and  for  each  one  of  them  he  was  an  ever- 
present  stimulus  to  work.  He  set  great  store  by 
talent,  and  treated  it  as  the  groundwork  of  faith. 
He  often  said  that  a  man*s  worth  must  be  measured 
by  his  faculty  for  admiration.  His  own  admiration 
was  not  always  very  enlightened  or  scientific,  but  it 
was  prompted  by  a  generous  spirit,  and  a  heart  really 
glowing  with  the  love  of  the  beautiful.  He  was  the 
Villemain  of  the  CathoHc  school,  and  M.  Villemain 
was  the  friend  whom  he  loved  and  appreciated  the 
most  among  laymen.  Every  time  he  had  seen  him, 
he  related  the  conversation  which  they  had  together 
in  terms  of  the  warmest  sympathy. 

The  defects  of  his  own  mind  were  reflected  in  the 
education  which  he  imparted.  He  was  not  suffi- 
ciently rational  or  scientific.  It  might  have  been 
thought  that  his  two  hundred  pupils  were  all 
destined  to  be  poets,  writers,  and  orators.  He  set 
little  value  on  learning  without  talent.     This  was 


152  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

made  very  clear  at  the  entrance  of  the  Nicolaites  to 
St.  Sulpice,  where  talent  was  held  of  no  account, 
and  where  scholasticism  and  erudition  alone  were 
prized.  When  it  came  to  a  question  of  doing  an 
exercise  of  logic  or  philosophy  in  barbarous  Latin, 
the  students  of  St.  Nicholas,  who  had  been  fed 
upon  more  delicate  literature,  could  not  stomach 
such  coarse  food.  They  were  not,  therefore,  much 
liked  at  St.  Sulpice,  to  which  M.  Dupanloup  was 
never  appointed,  as  he  was  considered  to  be  too 
little  of  a  theologian.  When  an  ex-student  of  St. 
Nicholas  ventured  to  speak  of  his  former  school,  the 
old  tutors  would  remark :  "  Oh,  yes  !  in  the  time  of 
M.  Bourdoise,"  as  much  as  to  say  that  the  seven- 
teenth century  was  the  period  during  which  this 
establishment  achieved  its  celebrity. 

Whatever  its  shortcomings  in  some  respects,  the 
education  given  at  St.  Nicholas  w^as  of  a  very  high 
literary  standard.  Clerical  education  has  this  supe- 
riority over  a  university  education,  that  it  is  abso- 
lutely independent  in  every  thing  which  does  not 
relate  to  religion.  Literature  is  discussed  under  all 
its  aspects,  and  the  yoke  of  classical  dogma  sits  much 
more  lightly.  This  is  how  it  was  that  Lamartine, 
whose  education  and  training  were  altogether  clerical, 
was  far  more  intelligent  than  any  university  man  ; 
and  when  this  is  followed  by  philosophical  emanci- 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  153 

pation,  the  result  is  a  very  frank  and  unbiased 
mind.  I  completed  my  classical  education  without 
having  read  Voltaire,  but  I  knew  the  Soirees  de 
St,  P^tersbourg  by  heart,  and  its  style,  the  defects  of 
which  I  did  not  discover  until  much  later,  had  a 
very  stimulating  effect  upon  me. 

The  discussions  on  romanticism,  then  so  fierce  in 
the  world  outside,  found  their  way  into  the  college, 
and  all  our  talk  was  of  Lamartine  and  Victor  Hugo. 
The  superior  joined  in  with  them,  and  for  nearly  ^ 
year  they  were  the  sole  topic  of  our  spiritual  read- 
ings. M.  Dupanloup  did  not  go  all  the  way  with  the 
champions  of  romanticism,  but  he  was  much  more 
with  them  than  against  them.  Thus  it  was  that  I 
came  to  know  of  the  struggles  of  the  day.  Later 
still,  the  solvicntur  objecta  of  the  theologians  enabled 
me  to  attain  liberty  of  thought.  The  thorough 
good  faith  of  the  ancient  ecclesiastical  teaching  con- 
sisted in  not  dissimulating  the  force  of  any  objection, 
and  as  the  answers  were  generally  very  weak,  a 
clever  person  could  work  out  the  truth  for  himself. 

I  learnt  much,  too,  from  the  course  of  lectures  on 
history.  Abbe  Richard^''  gave  these  lectures  in  the 
spirit  of  the  modern  school  and  with  marked  ability. 
For  some  reason  or  other  his  lectures  were  inter- 

*  See  the   excellent   memoir  by  M.    Foulon  (now  Archbishop  of 
Besan9on)  upon  Abbe  Richard. 
7* 


IS4  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

rupted,  and  his  place  was  taken  by  a  tutor,  who, 
with  many  other  engagements  on  hand,  merely  read 
to  us  some  old  notes,  interspersed  with  extracts  from 
modern  books.  Among  these  modern  volumes, 
which  often  formed  a  striking  contrast  with  the  jog- 
trot old  notes,  there  was  one  which  produced  a  very 
singular  effect  upon  me.  Whenever  he  began  to 
read  from  it  I  was  incapable  of  taking  a  single  note, 
my  whole  being  seeming  to  thrill  with  intoxicating 
•harmony.  The  book  was  Michelet*s  Histoire  de 
France^  the  passages  which  so  affected  me  being  in 
the  fifth  and  sixth  volumes.  Thus  the  modern  age 
penetrated  into  me  as  through  all  the  fissures  of  a 
cracked  cement.  I  had  come  to  Paris  with  a  com- 
^  plete  moral  training,  but  ignorant  to  the  last  degree. 
V  I  had  everything  to  learn.  It  was  a  great  surprise 
for  me  when  I  found  that  there  was  such  a  person  as 
a  serious  and  learned  layman.  I  discovered  that  an- 
tiquity and  the  Church  are  not  everything  in  this 
world,  and  especially  that  contemporary  literature 
was  well  worthy  of  attention.  I  ceased  to  look 
upon  the  death  of  Louis  XIV.  as  marking  the  end 
of  the  world.  I  became  imbued  with  ideas  and 
sentiments  which  had  no  expression  in  antiquity  or 
in  the  seventeenth  century. 

So  the  germ  which  was  in  me  began  to  sprout. 
Distasteful  as  it  was  in  many  respects  to  my  nature, 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  I $5 

this  education  had  the  effect  of  a  chemical  reagent, 
and  stirred  all  the  life  and  activity  that  was  in  me. ' 
For  the  essential  thing  in  education  is  not  the  doc- 
trine taught,  but  the  arousing  of  the  faculties.  In 
proportion  as  the  foundations  of  my  religious  faitirl 
had  been  shaken  by  finding  the  same  names  applied 
to  things  so  different,  so  did  my  mind  greedily 
swallow  the  new  beverage  prepared  for  it.  The 
world  broke  in  upon  me.  Despite  its  claim  to  be  a 
refuge  to  which  the  stir  of  the  outside  world  never 
penetrated,  St.  Nicholas  was  at  this  period  the  most 
brilliant  and  worldly  house  in  Paris.  The  atmos- 
phere of  Paris — minus,  let  me  add,  its  corruptions — 
penetrated  by  door  and  window  ;  Paris  with  its  pet- 
tiness and  its  grandeur,  its  revolutionary  force  and 
its  lapses  into  flabby  indifference.  My  old  Brittany 
priests  knew  much  more  Latin  and  mathematics 
than  my  new  masters ;  but_±hey  lived  in  the  cata- 
combs, bereft  of  light  and  air.  Here,  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  age  had  free  course.  In  our  walks  to 
Gentilly  of  an  evening  we  engaged  in  endless  dis- 
cussions, I  could  never  sleep  of  a  night  after  that ; 
my  head  was  full  of  Hugo  and  Lamartine.  I  under- 
stood what  glory  was  after  having  vaguely  expected 
to  find  it  in  the  roof  of  the  chapel  at  Treguier.  In 
the  course  of  a  short  time  a  very^great  revelation 
was  borne  in  upon  me.     The  words  talent,  brilliancy, 


IS6  RECOLLECTIONS   01^  MY    YOUTH, 

and  reputation,  conveyed  a  meaning  to  me.  The 
modest  ideal  which  my  earhest  teachers  had  incul- 
cated faded  away ;  I  had  embarked  upon  a  sea 
agitated  by  all  the  storms  and  currents  of  the  age. 
These  currents  and  gales  were  bound  to  drive  my 
vessel  toward  a  coast  whither  my  former  friends 
would  tremble  to  see  me  land. 

My  performances  in  class  were  very  irregular. 
Upon  one  occasion  I  wrote  an  Alexander,  which 
must  be  in  the  prize  exercise  book,  and  which  I 
would  reprint  if  I  had  it  by  me.  But  purely 
rhetorical  compositions  were  very  distasteful  to  me ; 
I  could  never  make  a  decent  speech.  Upon  one 
prize-day  we  got  up  a  representation  of  the  Council 
of  Clermont,  and  the  various  speeches  suitable  to 
the  occasion  were  alloted  by  competition.  I  was  a 
miserable  failure  as  Peter  the  Hermit  and  Urban  11. ; 
my  Godefroy  de  Bouillon  was  pronounced  to  be 
utterly  devoiH  of  military  ardor.  A  warlike  song 
in  Sapphic  and  Adonic  stanzas  created  a  more  favor- 
able impression.  My  refrain  Sternite  Turcas,  a  short 
and  sharp  solution  of  the  Eastern  Question,  was  se- 
lected for  recital  in  public.  I  was  too  staid  for  these 
childish  proceedings.  We  were  often  set  to  write  a 
Middle  Age  tale,  terminating  with  some  striking 
miracle,  and  I  was  far  too  fond  of  selecting  the  cure 
of  lepers.     I  often  thought  of   my  early  studies  in 


ST,  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  !$? 

mathematics,  in  which  I  was  pretty  well  advanced, 
and  I  spoke  of  it  to  my  fellow  students,  who  were 
much  amused  at  the  idea,  for  mathematics  stood 
very  low  in  their  estimation,  compared  to  the  liter- 
ary studies  which  they  looked  upon  as  the  highest 
expression  of  human  intelligence.  My  reasoning 
powers  only  revealed  themselves  later,  while  studying 
philosophy  at  Issy.  The  first  time  that  my  fellow 
pupils  heard  me  argue  in  Latin  they  were  surprised. 
They  saw  at  once  that  I  was  of  a  different  race  from 
themselves,  and  that  I  should  still  be  marching  for- 
ward when  they  had  reached  the  bounds  set  for  them. 
But  in  rhetoric  I  did  not  stand  so  well.  I  looked 
upon  it  as  a  pure  waste  of  time  and  ingenuity  to  write 
when  one  has  no  thoughts  of  one's  own  to  express. 
The  groundwork  of  ideas  upon  which  education  at 
St.  Nicholas  was  based  was  shallow,  but  it  was  brill- 
iant upon  the  surface,  and  the  elevation  of  feeling 
which  pervaded  the  whole  system  was  another  nota- 
ble feature.  I  have  said  that  no  kind  of  punishment 
was  administered  ;  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  there 
was  only  one,  expulsion.  Except  in  cases  where  some 
grave  offence  had  been  committed,  there  was  nothing 
degrading  in  being  dismissed.  No  particular  reason 
was  alleged,  the  superior  saying  to  the  student  who 
was  sent  away  :  "  You  are  a  very  worthy  young  man, 
but  your  intelligence  is  not  of  the  turn  we  require. 


158  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

Let  US  part  friends.  Is  there  any  service  I  can  do 
you  ?  "  The  favor  of  being  allowed  to  share  in  an 
education  considered  to  be  so  exceptionally  good 
was  thought  so  much  of  that  we  dreaded  an  an- 
nouncement of  this  kind  like  a  sentence  of  death. 
This  is  one  of  the  secrets  of  the  superiority  of  eccle- 
siastical over  state  colleges ;  their  regime  is  much 
more  liberal,  for  none  of  the  students  are  there  by 
right,  and  coercion  must  inevitably  lead  to  separa- 
tion. There  is  something  cold  and  hard  about  the 
schools  and  colleges  of  the  state,  while  the  fact  of  a 
student  having  secured  by  a  competitive  examination 
an  inalienable  right  to  his  place  m  them,  is  an  infalli- 
ble source  of  weakness.  For  my  own  part  I  have 
never  been  able  to  understand  how  the  master  of  a 
normal  school,  for  instance,  manages,  inasmuch  as  he 
is  unable  to  say,  without  further  explanation,  to  the 
pupils  who  are  unsuited  for  their  vocation :  "  You 
have  not  the  bent  of  intelligence  for  our  calling,  but 
1  have  no  doubt  that  you  are  a  very  good  lad,  and 
that  you  will  get  on  better  elsewhere.  Good-bye." 
Even  the  most  trifling  punishment  implies  a  servile 
principle  of  obedience  from  fear.  So  far  as  I  am 
myself  concerned,  I  do  not  think  that  at  any  perigd 
of  my  life  I  have. been  obedient.  I  have,  I  know, 
been  docile  and  submissive,  but  it  has  been  to  a 
spiritual  principle,  not  to  a  material  force  wielding 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  1 59 

the  dread  of  punishment.  My  mother  never  ordered 
me  to  do  a  thing.  The  relations  between  my  eccle- 
siastical teachers  and  myself  were  entirely  free  and 
spontaneous.  Whoever  has  had  experience  of  this 
rationabile  obsequiuin  cannot  put  up  with  any  other. 
An  order  is  a  humiliation ;  whosoever  has  to  obey  is 
a  capitis  minor  sullied  on  the  very  threshold  of  the 
higher  life.  Ecclesiastical  obedience  has  nothing 
lowering  about  it ;  for  it  is  voluntary,  and  those  who 
do  not  get  on  together  can  separate.  In  one  of  my 
Utopian  dreams  of  an  aristocratic  society,  I  have  pro- 
vided that  there  should  only  be  one  penalty,  death ; 
or  rather,  that  all  serious  offences  should  be  visited 
by  a  reprimand  from  the  recognized  authorities 
which  no  man  of  honor  would  survive.  I  should 
never  have  done  to  be  a  soldier,  for  I  should  either 
have  deserted  or  committed  suicide.  I  am  afraid 
that  the  new  military  institutions  which  do  not  leave 
a  place  for  any  exceptions  or  equivalents  will  have  a 
very  lowering  moral  effect.  To  compel  every  one  to 
obey  is  fatal  to  genius  and  talent.  The  man  who 
has  passed  years  in  the  carriage  of  arms  after  the 
German  fashion  is  dead  to  ail  delicate  work  whether 
of  the  hand  or  brain.  Thus  it  is  that  Germany 
would  be  devoid  of  all  talent  since  she  has  been  en- 
grossed in  military  pursuits,  but  for  the  Jews  to 
whom  she  is  so  ungrateful. 


l6o  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

The  generation  which  was  from  fifteen  to  twenty- 
years  of  age,  at  the  brilHant  but  fleeting  epoch  of 
which  I  am  speaking,  is  now  between  fifty-five  and 
sixty.  It  will  be  asked  whether  this  generation  has 
realized  the  unbounded  hopes  which  the  ardent  spirit 
of  our  great  preceptor  had  conceived.  The  answer 
must  unquestionably  be  in  the  negative,  for  if  these 
hopes  had  been  fulfilled  the  face  of  the  world  would 
have  been  completely  changed.  M.  Dupanloup  was 
too  little  in  love  with  his  age,  and  too  uncompro- 
mising to  its  spirit,  to  mould  men  in  accordance  with 
the  temper  of  the  time.  When  I  recall  one  of  these 
spiritual  readings  during  which  the  master  poured  out 
the  treasures  of  his  intelligence,  the  class-room,  with 
its  serried  benches  upon  which  clustered  two  hundred 
lads  hushed  in  attentive  respect,  and  when  I  set 
myself  to  inquire  whither  have  fled  the  two  hundred 
souls,  so  closely  bound  together  by  the  ascendency 
of  one  man,  I  count  more  than  one  case  of  waste 
and  eccentricity ;  as  might  be  expected,  I  can  count 
archbishops,  bishops,  and  other  dignitaries  of  the 
Church,  all  to  a  certain  extent  enlightened  and  mod- 
erate in  their  views.  I  come  upon  diplomatists, 
councillors  of  the  State,  and  others,  whose  honorable 
careers  would  in  some  instances  have  been  more 
brilliant  if  Marshal  McMahon's  dismissal  of  his  min- 
istry on  the  1 6th  of  May,  1877,  had  been  a  success. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  l6l 

But,  strange  to  say,  I  see  among  those  who  sat 
beside  a  future  prelate  a  young  man  destined  to 
sharpen  his  knife  so  well  that  he  will  drive  it  home 
to  his  archbishop's  heart.  ...  I  think  that  I  can 
remember  Verger,  and  I  may  say  of  him  as  Sachetti 
of  the  beautified  Florentine  :  Fit  mia  vichia,  andava 
come  le  altre.  The  education  given  us  had  its  dan- 
gers ;  it  had  a  tendency  to  produce  over  excitement, 
and  to  turn  the  balance  of  the  mind,  as  it  did  in 
Verger's  case. 

A  still  more  striking  instance  of  the  saying  that 
"  the  spirit  bloweth  where  it   listeth,"  was  that  of 

H.  de .     When  I  first  entered  at  Saint  Nicholas 

he  was  the  object  of  my  special  admiration.  He  was 
a  youth  of  exceptional  talent,  and  he  was  a  long  way 
ahead  of  all  his  comrades  in  rhetoric.  His  staid  and 
elevated  piety  sprung  from  a  nature  endowed  with 
the  loftiest  aspirations.  He  quite  came  up  to  our 
idea  of  perfection,  and  according  to  the  custom  of 
ecclesiastical  colleges,  in  which  the  senior  pupils  share 
the  duties  of  the  masters,  the  most  important  of 
these  functions  were  confided  to  him.  His  piety 
was  equally  great  for  several  years  at  the  seminary 
of  St.  Sulpice.  He  would  remain  for  hours  in  the 
chapel,  especially  on  holy  days,  bathed  in  tears.  I 
well  remember  one  summer  evening  at  Gentilly — 
which  was  the  country-house  of  the  petty  seminary 


l62  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

of  Saint  Nicholas — how  we  clustered  round  some  of 
the  senior  students  and  one  of  the  masters  noted  for 
his  Christian  piety,  listening  intently  to  what  they 
told  us.  The  conversation  had  taken  a  very  serious 
turn,  the  question  under  discussion  being  the  ever- 
enduring  problem  upon  which  all  Christianity  rests 
— the  question  of  divine  election — the  doubt  in 
which  each  individual  soul  must  stand  until  the  last 
hour,  whether  he  will  be  saved.  The  good  priest 
dwelt  specially  upon  this,  telling  us  that  no  one  can 
be  sure,  however  great  may  be  the  favors  which 
Heaven  has  showered  upon  him,  that  he  will  not  fall 
away  at  the  last.  "  I  think,"  he  said,  '^  that  I  have 
known  one  case  of  predestination."  '  There  was  a 
hush,    and    after   a   pause   he  added,  "  I  mean    H. 

de ;  if  any  one  is  sure  of  being  saved  it  is  he. 

And  yet  who  can  tell  that  H.  de is  not  a  repro- 
bate ?  "  I  saw  H  de again  many  years  after- 
ward. He  had  in  the  interval  studied  the  Bible 
very  deeply.  I  could  not  tell  whether  he  was 
entirely  estranged  from  Christianity,  but  he  no 
longer  wore  the  priestly  garb,  and  was  very  bitter 
against  clericalism.  When  I  met  him  later  still  I 
found  that  he  had  become  a  convert  to  extreme 
democratic  ideas,  and  with  the  passionate  exaltation 
which  was  the  principal  trait  in  his  character,  he  was 
bent   upon   inaugurating  the  reign  of  justice.     His 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET.  163 

head  was  full  of  America,  and  I  think  that  he  must 
be  there  now.  A  few  years  ago  one  of  our  old  com- 
rades told  me  that  he  had  read  a  name  not  unlike  his 
among  the  list  of  men  shot  for  participation  in  the 
Communist  insurrection  of  1871.  I  think  that  he 
was  mistaken,  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  the 

career  of  poor  H.  de was  shipwrecked  by  some 

great  storm.  His  many  high  qualities  were  neutral- 
ized by  his  passionate  temper.  He  was  by  far  the 
most  gifted  of  my  fellow  pupils  at  Saint  Nicholas. 
But  he  had  not  the  good  sense  to  keep  cool  in  pol- 
itics. A  man  who  behaved  as  he  did  might  get  shot 
twenty  times.  Idealists  like  us  must  be  very  careful 
how  we  play  with  those  tools.  We  are  very  likely 
to  leave  our  heads  or  our  wing-feathers  behind  us. 
The  temptation  for  a  priest  who  has  thrown  up 
the  Church  to  become  a  democrat  is  very  strong, 
beyond  doubt,  for  by  so  doing  he  regains  colleagues 
and  friends,  and  in  reality  merely  exchanges  one 
sect  for  another.  Such  was  the  fate  of  Lamennais. 
One  of  the  wisest  acts  of  Abbe  Loyson  has  been  the 
resistance  of  this  temptation  and  his  refusal  to  accept 
the  advances  which  the  extreme  party  always  makes 
to  those  who  have  broken  away  from  official  ties. 

For  three  years  I  was  subjected  to  this  profound 
influence,  which  brought  about  a  complete  trans- 
formation in  my  being.     M.  Dupanloup  had  literally 


164  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOU  TIL 

transfigured  me.  The  poor  little  country  lad  strug- 
gling vainly  to  emerge  from  his  shell,  had  been  \/ 
developed  into  a  young  man.  of  ready  and  quick  in- y/ 
telligence.  There  was,  I  know,  one  thing  wanting 
in  my  education,  and  until  that  void  was  filled  up  I 
was  very  cramped  in  my  powers.  The  one  thing  ' 
lacking  was  positive  science,  the  idea  of  a  critical 
search  after  truth.  This  superficial  humanism  kept 
my  reasoning  powers  fallow  for  three  years,  while  at 
the  same  time  it  wore  away  the  early  candor  of  my 
faith.  My  Christianity  was  being  worn  away,  though 
there  was  nothing  as  yet  in  my  mind  which  could  be 
styled  doubt.  I  went  every  year,  during  the  holi- 
days, into  Brittany.  Notwithstanding  more  than 
one  painful  struggle,  I  soon  became  my  old  self  again 
just  as  my  early  masters  had  fashioned  me. 

In  accordance  with  the  general  rule  I  went,  after 
completing  my  rhetoric  at  Saint  Nicholas  du  Char- 
donnet,  to  Issy,  the  country  branch  of  the  St.  Sul- 
pice  seminary.  Thus  I  left  M.  Dupanloup  for  an 
establishment  in  which  the  discipline  was  diainetri-^ 
-»4:ally  opposed  to  that  of  Saint  Nicholas.  The  first 
thing  which  I  was  taught  at  St.  Sulpice  was  to  regard 
as  childish  nonsense  the  very  things  which  M.  Du- 
panloup had  told  me  to  prize  the  most.  What,  I 
was  taught,  could  be  simpler?  If  Christianity  is  a 
revealed  truth,  should  not  the  chief  occupation  of 


ST.  NICHOLAS  DU  CHARDONNET,  1 65 

the  Christian  be  the  study  of  that  revelation,  in 
other  words  of  theology  ?  Theology  and  the  study 
of  the  Bible  absorbed  my  whole  time,  and  furnished 
me  with  the  true  reasons  for  believing  in  Christian- 
ity and  for  not  adhering  to  it.  For  four  years  a 
terrible  struggle  went  on  within  me,  until  at  last  the 
phrase  which  I  had  long  put  away  from  me,  as  a 
temptation  of  the  devil — ^'  It  is  not  true,"  would  not 
be  denied.  In  describing  this  inward  combat  and 
the  Seminary  of  St.  Sulpice  itself,  which  is  further 
removed  from  the  present  age  than  if  encircled  by 
thousands  of  leagues  of  solitude,  I  will  endeavor  also 
to  show  how  I  arose  from  the  direct  study  of  Chris- 
tianity, undertaken  in  the  most  serious  spirit,  with- 
out sufficient  faith  to  be  a  sincere  priest,  and  yet 
with  too  much  respect  for  it  to  permit  of  my  trifling 
with  faiths  so  worthy  of  that  respect. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY. 

PART  I. 

The  petty  seminary  of  Saint  Nicholas  du  Char- 
donnet  had  no  philosophical  course^  philosophy 
being,  in  accordance  with  the  division  of  ecclesiasti- 
cal studies,  reserved  for  the  great  seminary.  After 
having  finished  my  classical  education  in  the  estab- 
lishment so  ably  directed  by  M.  Dupanloup,  I  was, 
with  the  students,  in  my  class,  passed  into  the  great 
seminary,  which  is  set  apart  for  an  exclusively  eccle- 
siastical course  of  teaching.  The  grand  seminary 
for  the  diocese  of  Paris  is  St.  Sulpice,  which  consists 
of  two  houses,  one  in  Paris  and  the  other  at  Issy, 
where  the  students  devote  two  years  to  philosophy. 
These  two  seminaries  form,  in  reality,  one.  The  one 
is  the  outcome  of  the  other,  and  they  are  both  con- 
joined at  certain  times ;  the  congregation  from  which 
the  masters  are  selected  is  the  same.  St.  Sulpice 
exercised  so  great  an  influence  over  me,  and  so 
definitely  decided  the  whole  course  of  my  life,  that 
I  must  perforce  sketch  its  history,  and  explain  its 

principles  and  tendencies,  so  as  to  show  how  they 
i66 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  1 6/ 

have  continued  to  be  the  'mainspring  of  all  my  intel- 
lectual and  moral  development. 

St.  Sulpice  owes  its  origin  to  one  whose  name  has 
not  attained  any  great  celebrity,  for  celebrity  rarely 
seeks  out  those  who  make  a  point  of  avoiding  noto- 
riety, and  whose  predominant  characteristic  is  mod- 
esty. Jean-Jacques  Olier,  member  of  a  family 
which  supplied  the  State  with  many  trusty  servitors, 
v/as  the  contemporary  of,  and  a  fellow-worker  with, 
Vincent  de  Paul,  Berulle,  Adrien  de  Bourdoise,  Pere 
Eudes,  and  Charles  de  Gondren,  founders  of  congre- 
gations for  the  reform  of  ecclesiastical  education, 
who  played  a  prominent  part  in  the  preparatory 
reforms  of  the  seventeenth  century.  During  the 
reign  of  Henri  IV.  and  in  the  early  years  of  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIII.,  the  morality  of  the  clergy  was  at  the 
lowest  possible  point.  The  fanaticism  of  the  League, 
far  from  serving  to  make  their  morality  more  rigo- 
rous, had  just  the  contrary  effect.  Priests  thought 
that  because  they  shouldered  musket  and  carbine  in 
the  good  cause  they  were  at  liberty  to  do  as  they 
liked.  The  racy  humor  which  prevailed  during  the 
reign  of  Henri  IV.  was  anything  but  favorable  to 
mysticism.  There  was  a  good  side  to  the  outspoken 
Rabelaisian  gayety  which  was  not  deemed,  in  that 
day,  incompatible  with  the  priestly  calling.  In 
many  ways  we  prefer  the  bright  and  witty  piety  of 


1 68  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

Pierre  Camus,  a  friend  of  Frangois  de  Sales,  to  the 
rigid  and  affected  attitude  which  the  French  clergy 
has  since  assumed,  and  which  has  converted  them 
into  a  sort  of  black  army,  holding  aloof  from  the 
rest  of  the  world  and  at  war  with  it.  But  there  can 
be  no  doubt  that  about  the  year  1640  the  education 
of  the  clergy  was  not  in  keeping  with  the  spirit  of 
regularity  and  moderation  which  was  becoming  more 
and  more  the  law  of  the  age.  From  the  most 
opposite  directions  came  a  cry  for  reform.  Francois 
de  Sales  admitted  that  he  had  not  been  successful  in 
this  attempt,  and  he  told  Bourdoise  that  "'  after  hav- 
ing labored  during  seventeen  years  to  train  only 
three  such  priests  as  I  wanted  to  assist  me  in  reform- 
ing the  clergy  of  my  diocese,  I  have  only  succeeded 
in  forming  one  and  a-half."  Following  upon  him 
came  the  men  of  grave  and  reasonable  piety  whom 
I  named  above.  By  means  of  congregations  of  a 
fresh  type,  distinct  from  the  old  monkish  rules  and 
in  some  points  copied  from  the  Jesuits,  they  created 
the  seminary,  that  is  to  say  the  well-walled  nursery 
in  which  young  clerks  could  be  trained  and  formed. 
The  transformation  was  far  extending.  The  schools 
of  these  powerful  teachers  of  the  spiritual  life  turned 
out  a  body  of  men  representing  the  best  disciplined, 
the  most  orderly,  the  most  national,  and  it  may  be 
added,  the  most  highly  educated  clergy  ever  seen — - 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  1 69 

a  clergy  which  illustrated  the  second  half  of  the 
seventeenth  century  and  the  whole  of  the  eighteenth, 
and  the  last  of  whose  representatives  have  only  dis- 
appeared within  the  last  forty  years.  Concurrently 
with  these  exertions  of  orthodox  piety  arose  Port- 
Royal,  which  was  far  superior  to  St.  Sulpice,  to  St. 
Lazare,  to  the  Christian  doctrine,  and  even  to  the 
Oratoire,  as  regarded  consistency  in  reasoning  and 
talent  in  writing,  but  which  lacked  the  most  essential 
of  Catholic  virtues,  docility.  Port-Royal,  like  Prot- 
estantism, passed  through  every  phase  of  mis- 
fortune. It  was  distasteful  to  the  majority,  and  was 
always  in  opposition.  When  you  have  excited  the 
antipathy  of  your  country  you  are  too  often  led  to 
take  a  dislike  to  your  country.  The  persecuted  one 
is  doubly  to  be  pitied,  for,  in  addition  to  the  suffer- 
ing which  he  endures,  persecution  affects  him 
morally;  it  rarely  fails  to  warp  the  mind  and  to 
shrink  the  heart. 

Olier  occupies  a  place  apart  in  this  group  of  Catholic 
reformers.  His  mysticism  is  of  a  kind  peculiar  to 
himself.  His  Cathechisme  ChrMen  pour  la  vie  intd- 
rieure^  which  is  scarcely  ever  read  outside  St.  Sulpice, 
is  a  most  remarkable  book,  full  of  poesy  and  sombre 
philosophy,  wavering  from  first  to  last  between 
Louis  de  L^on  and  Spinoza.  Oher^s  ideal  of  the 
Christian  life  is  what  he  calls  ''  the  state  of  death/' 
8 


I/O  RECOLLECTIONS  OE  MY    YOUTH, 

*'  What  is  the  state  of  death  ? — It  is  a  state  during 
which  the  heart  cannot  be  moved  to  its  depths,  and 
though  the  world  displays  to  it  its  beauties,  its  hon- 
ors, and  its  riches,  the  effect  is  the  same  as  if  it  offered 
them  to  a  corpse,  which  remains  motionless,  and 
devoid  of  all  desire,  insensible  to  all  that  goes  on. 
.  .  .  The  corpse  maybe  agitated  outwardly,  and  have 
some  movement  of  the  body ;  but  this  agitation  is 
all  on  the  surface ;  it  does  not  come  from  the  inner 
man,  which  is  without  life,  vigor  or  strength.  Thus 
a  soul  which  is  dead  within  may  easily  be  attacked 
by  external  things  and  be  disturbed  outwardly ;  but 
in  its  inner  self  it  remains  dead  and  motionless  to 
whatever  may  happen.'* 

Nor  is  this  all.  Olier  imagines  as  far  superior  to 
the  state  of  death  the  state  of  burial. 

*^  Death  retains  the  appearance  of  the  world  and 
of  the  flesh ;  the  dead  man  seems  to  be  still  a  part  of 
Adam.  He  is  now  and  again  moved  ;  he  continues 
to  afford  the  world  some  pleasure.  But  the  buried 
body  is  forgotten,  and  no  longer  ranks  with  men. 
He  is  noisome  and  horrible ;  he  is  bereft  of  all  that 
pleases  the  eye ;  he  is  trodden  under  foot  in  a  ceme- 
tery without  compunction,  so  convinced  is  every  one 
that  he  is  nothing,  and  that  he  is  rooted  from  among 
the  number  of  men." 

The  sombre  fancies  of  Calvin  are  as  Pelagian  op- 


THE  ISSV  SEMINARY.  I/I 

timism  compared  to  the  horrible  nightmares  which 
original  sin  evokes  in  the  brain  of  the  pious  recluse. 

"  Could  you  add  anything  to  drive  more  closely 
home  the  conception  as  to  how  the  flesh  is  only  sin  ? 
It  is  so  completely  sin  that  it  is  all  intent  and  mo- 
tion toward  sin,  and  even  to  every  kind  of  sin ;  so 
much  so,  that  if  the  Holy  Ghost  did  not  restrain 
our  souls  and  succor  us  with  His  grace,  it  would 
be  carried  away  by  all  the  inclinations  of  the  flesh, 
all  of  which  tend  to  sin. 

"  What  is  then  the  flesh  ? — It  is  the  effect  of  sin  ; 
it  is  the  principle  of  sin. 

"If  that  is  so,  how  comes  it  that  you  did  not  fall 
away  every  hour  into  sin  ? — It  is  the  mercy  of  God 
which  keeps  us  from  it.  .  .  .  I  am,  therefore,  in- 
debted to  God  if  I  do  not  commit  every  kind  of 
sin  ? — ^Yes.  .  .  this  is  the  general  feeling  of  the 
saints,  because  the  flesh  is  drawn  down  toward  sin 
by  such  a  heavy  weight  that  God  alone  can  prevent 
it  from  falling. 

"  But  will  you  kindly  tell  me  something  more 
about  this  ? — All  I  can  tell  you  is  that  there  is  no 
conceivable  kind  of  sin,  no  imperfection,  disorder, 
error,  or  unruliness  of  which  the  flesh  is  not  full,  just 
as  there  is  no  levity,  folly,  or  stupidity  of  which  the 
flesh  Is  not  capable  at  any  moment. 

"  What,  I  should  be  mad  and  comport  myself  like 


1/2  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

a  madman  in  the  highways  and  byways,  but  for  the 
help  of  God  ? — That  is  a  small  matter, *and  a  question 
of  common  decency  ;  but  you  must  know  that  with- 
out the  grace  of  God  and  the  virtue  of  His  Spirit, 
there  is  no  impurity,  meanness,  infamy,  drunken- 
ness, blasphemy,  or  other  kind  of  sin  to  which  man 
would  not  give  himself  over. 

**  The  flesh  is  very  corrupt  then  ? — You  see  that 
it  is. 

^'  I  cannot  wonder  therefore  that  you  tell  us  we 
must  hate  our  flesh  and  hold  our  own  bodies  in 
horror;  and  that  man,  in  his  present  condition,  is 
fated  to  be  accursed,  vilifiesLand  persecuted. — No,  I 
can  no  longer  feel  surprise  at  this.  In  truth,  there  is 
no  form  of  misfortune  and  suffering  but  which  he 
may  expect  his  flesh  to  bring  down  upon  him.  You 
are  right  ;  all  the  hatred,  malediction,  and  persecu- 
tion which  beset  the  demon  must  also  beset  the 
flesh  and  all  its  motions. 

"'  There  is,  then,  no  extremity  of  insult  too  great 
to  be  put  up  with  and  to  be  looked  upon  as  de- 
served ? — No. 

"  Contempt,  insult,  and  calumny  should  not  then 
disturb  our  peace  of  mind  ? — No.  We  should  be- 
have like  the  saint  of  former  days,  who  was  led  to 
the  scaffold  for  a  crime  which  he  had  not  committed, 
and  from  which  he  would  not  attempt  to  exculpate 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  1/3 

himself,  as  he  said  to  himself  that  he  should  have 
been  guilty  of  this  crime  and  of  many  far  worse  but 
for  the  preventing  grace  of  God. 
•  *'  Men,  angels,  and  God  Himself  ought,  therefore, 
to  persecute  us  without  ceasing  ? — Yes,  so  it  ought 
to  be. 

^'  What !  do  you  mean  to  say  that  sinners  ought  to 
be  poor  and  bereft  of  everything,  like  the  demons  ? 
— Yes,  and  more  than  that.  Sinners  ought  to  be 
placed  under  an  interdict  in  regard  to  all  their 
corporal  and  spiritual  faculties,  and  bereft  of  all  the 
gifts  of  God." 

A  hero  of  Christian  humility,  OHer  was  acting  as 
he  thought  for  the  best  in  making  a  mock  of  human 
nature  and  dragging  it  through  the  mire.  He  had 
visions,  and  was  favored  with  inner  revelations,  of 
which  the  autographic  account,  written  for  his  di- 
rector, is  still  at  St.  Sulpice.  He  stops  short  in 
his  writing  to  make  such  reflections  as  these :  ''  My 
courage  is  at  times  utterly  cast  down  when  I  see 
what  impertinences  I  have  been  writing.  They 
must,  I  think,  be  a  great  waste  of  time  for  my  good 
director,  whom  I  am  afraid  of  amusing.  I  pity  him 
for  having  to  spend  his  time  in  reading  them,  and  it 
seems  to  me  that  he  ought  to  stop  my  writing  this 
intolerable  frivolity  and  irnpertinence." 

But    Olier,  like  nearly  all   the   mystics,  was    not 


174  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

merely  a  strange  dreamer,  but  a  powerful  organizer. 
Entering  very  young  into  holy  orders,  he  was  ap- 
pointed, through  the  influence  of  his  family,  priest 
of  the  parish  of  St.  Sulpice,  which  was  then  attached 
to  the  Abbey  of  Saint-Germain  des  Pres.  His  tender 
and  susceptible  piety  took  umbrage  at  many  things 
which  had  hitherto  been  looked  upon  as  harmless — 
for  instance,  at  a  tavern  situated  in  the  charnel-house 
of  the  church  and  frequented  by  the  choristers.  His 
ideal  was  a  clergy  after  his  own  image — pious, 
zealous,  and  attached  to  their  duties.  Many  other 
saintly  personages  were  laboring  toward  the  same 
end,  but  Olier  set  to  work  in  very  original  fashion. 
Adrien  de  Bourdoise  alone  took  the  same  view  as  he 
did  of  ecclesiastical  reform.  What  was  truly  novel 
in  the  idea  of  these  two  founders  was  to  try  and 
effect  the  improvement  of  the  secular  clergy  by 
means  of  institutions  for  priests  mixing  with  the 
world  and  combining  the  cure  of  souls  with  the 
training  of  students  for  the  Church. 

Olier  and  Bourdoise  accordingly,  while  carrying  on 
the  work  of  reform,  and  becoming  heads  of  religious 
congregations,  remained  parish  priests  of  St.  Sulpice 
and  Saint  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet.  The  seminary 
had  its  origin  in  the  assembling  together  of  the 
priests  into  communities,  and  these  communities 
became  schools  of  clericalism,  homes  in  which  young 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1/5 

men  destined  for  the  Church  were  piously  trained 
for  it.  What  facihtated  the  creation  of  these  estab- 
lishments and  made  them  innocuous  to  the  State 
was  that  they  had  no  resident  tutors.  All  the  theo- 
logical tutors  were  at  the  Sorbonne,  and  the  young 
men  from  St.  Sulpice  and  St.  Nicholas,  who  were 
studying  theology,  went  there  for  their  lectures. 
Thus  the  system  of  teaching  remained  national  and 
common  to  all.  The  seclusion  of  the  seminary  only 
applied  to  the  moral  discipline  and  religious  duties. 
This  was  the  equivalent  of  the  practice  now  prev- 
alent among  the  boarding-schools  which  send  their 
pupils  to  the  Lycee.  There  was  only  one  course  of 
theology  in  Paris,  and  that  was  the  official  one  at 
the  Faculty.  The  work  in  the  interior  of  the 
seminary  was  confined  to  repetitions  and  lectures. 
It  is  true  that  this  rule  soon  became  obsolete.  I 
have  heard  it  said  by  old  students  of  St.  Sulpice 
that  toward  the  end  of  last  century  they  went  very 
little  to  the  Sorbonne,  that  the  general  opinion  was 
that  there  was  little  to  be  learnt  there,  and  that  the 
private  lessons  in  the  seminary  quite  took  the  place 
of  the  official  lecture.  This  organization  was  very 
similar,  as  may  be  seen,  to  that  which  now  obtains 
in  the  Normal  School  and  regulates  its  relations  with 
the  Sorbonne.  Subsequent  to  the  Concordat  the 
whole  of  the  education  of  the  seminaries  was  given 


1/6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

within  the  walls.  Napoleon  did  not  think  it  worth 
while  to  revive  the  monopoly  of  the  Theological 
Faculty.  This  could  only  have  been  effected  by 
obtaining  from  the  Court  of  Rome  a  canonical  in- 
stitution, and  this  the  Imperial  Government  did  not 
care  to  have.  M.  Emery,  moreover,  took  good  care 
never  to  suggest  such  a  step.  He  had  anything  but 
a  favorable  recollection  of  the  old  system,  and  very 
much  preferred  keeping  his  young  men  under  his 
own  control.  The  lectures  intra  micros  thus  became 
the  regular  course  of  teaching.  Nevertheless,  as 
change  is  a  thing  unknown  at  St.  Sulpice,  the  old 
names  remain  what  they  were.  The  seminary  has 
no  professors  ;  all  the  members  of  the  congregation 
have  the  uniform  title  of  director. 

The  company  founded  by  Olier  retained  until  the 
Revolution  its  repute  for  modesty  and  practical 
virtue.  Its  achievements  in  theology  were  some- 
what insignificant,  as  it  had  not  the  lofty  indepen- 
dence of  Port-Royal.  It  went  too  far  into  Molinism, 
and  did  not  avoid  the  paltry  meanness  which  is,  so 
to  speak,  the  outcome  of  the  rigid  ideas  of  the 
orthodox  and  a  set-off  against  his  good  qualities. 
The  ill-humor  of  Saint  Simon  against  these  pious 
priests  is,  however,  carried  too  far.  They  were,  in 
the  great  ecclesiastical  army,  the  non-commissioned 
officers  and  drill-sergeants,  and  it  would  have  been 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1/7 

absurd  to  expect  from  them  the  high  breeding  of 
general  officers.  The  company  exercised  through 
its  numerous  provincial  houses  a  decisive  influence 
upon  the  education  of  the  French  clergy,  while  in 
Canada  it  acquired  a  sort  of  religious  suzerainty 
which  harmonized  very  well  with  the  English  rule — 
so  well-disposed  toward  ancient  rights  and  custom, 
and  which  has  lasted  down  to  our  own  day. 

The  Revolution  did  not  have  any  effect  upon  St. 
Sulpice.  A  man  of  cool  and  resolute  character, 
such  as  the  company  always  numbered  among  its 
members,  reconstructed  it  upon  the  very  same  TDasis. 
M..  Emery,  a  very  learned  and  moderately  Gallican  . 
priest,  so  completely  gained  Napoleon's  confidence 
that  he  obtained  from  him  the  necessary  authoriza- 
tions. He  would  have  been  very  much  surprised  if 
he  had  been  told  that  the  fact  of  making  such  a 
demand  was  a  base  concession  to  the  civil  power, 
and  a  sort  of  impiety.  Thus  things  recurred  to 
their  old  groove  as  they  were  before  the  Revolution, 
the  door  moved  on  its  old  hinges,  and  as  from  Olier 
to  the  Revolution  there  had  not  been  any  change, 
the  seventeenth  century  had  still  a  resting-place  in 
one  corner  of  Paris. 

St.  Sulpice  continued  amid  surroundings  so  dif- 
ferent, to  be  what  it  had  always  been  before — 
moderate  and    respectful   toward   the    civil   power, 


1/8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

and  to  hold  aloof  from  politics."^  With  its  legal 
status  thoroughly  assured,  thanks  to  the  judicious 
measures  taken  by  M.  Emery,  St.  Sulpice  was  blind 
to  all  that  went  on  in  the  world  outside.  After  the 
Revolution  of  1830,  there  was  some  little  stir  in  the 
college.  The  echo  of  the  heated  discussions  of  the 
day  sometimes  pierced  its  walls,  and  the  speeches  of 
M.  Mauguin — I  am  sure  I  don't  know  why — were 
special  favorites  with  the  junior  students.  One  of 
them  took  an  opportunity  of  reading  to  the  superior, 
M.  Duclaux,  an  extract  from  a  debate  which  had 
struck  him  as  being  more  violent  than  usual.  The 
.  old  priest,  wrapped  up  in  his  own  reflections,  had 
scarcely  listened.  When  the  student  had  finished, 
he  awoke  from  his  lethargy,  and  shaking  him  by  the 
hand,  observed  :  ''  It  is  very  clear,  my  lad,  that  these 
men  do  not  say  their  orisons."  The  remark  has 
often  recalled  itself  to  me  of  late  in  connection  with 
certain  speeches.  What  a  light  is  let  in  upon  many 
points  by  the  fact  that  M.  Clemenceau  does  not 
probably  say  his  orisons  ! 

These  imperturbable  old  men  were  very  indifferent 
to  what  went  on  in  the  world,  which  to  their  mind 
was  a  barrel-organ  continually  repeating  the  same 
tune.     Upon  one  occasion  there  was  a  ^ood  deal 

*  I  am  speaking  of  the  years  from  1842  to  1845.  I  believe  that  it 
is  the  same  still. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1/9 

of  commotion  upon  the  Place  St.  Sulpice,  and  one  of 
the  professors,  whose  feehngs  were  not  so  well  under 
control  as  those  of  his  colleagues,  wanted  them  all 
^'  to  go  to  the  chapel  and  die  in  a  body."  *^  I  don't 
see  the  use  of  that,"  was  the  reply  of  one  of  his 
colleagues,  and  the  professors  continued  their  con- 
stitutional walk  under  the  colonnade  of  the  court- 
yard. 

Amid  the  religious  difficulties  of  the  time,  the 
priests  of  St.  Sulpice  preserved  an  equally  neutral 
and  sagacious  attitude,  the  only  occasions  upon  which 
they  betrayed  anything  like  warmth  of  feeling  being 
when  the  episcopal  authority  was  threatened.  They 
soon  found  out  the  spitefulness  of  M.  de  Lamennais, 
and  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  The  theo- 
logical romanticism  of  Lacordaire  and  of  Montalem- 
bert  was  not  much  more  appreciated  by  them,  the 
dogmatic  ignorance  and  the  very  weak  reasoning 
powers  of  this  school  indisposing  them  against  it. 
They  were  fully  alive  to  the  danger  of  Catholic 
journalism.  Ultramontanism  they  at  first  looked 
upon  as  merely  a  convenient  method  of  appealing 
to  a  distant  and  often  ill-informed  authority  from  one 
nearer  at  hand,  and  less  easy  to  inveigle.  The  older 
members  who  had  gone  through  their  studies  at  the 
Sorbonne  before  the  Revolution,  were  uncompro- 
mising partisans  of  the  four  propositions  of   1682. 


I80  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

Bossuet  was  their  oracle  on  every  point.  One  of 
the  most  respected  of  the  directors,  M.  Boyer,  had, 
while  at  Rome,  a  long  argument  with  Pope  Gregory 
XVL  upon  the  Gallican  propositions.  He  asserted 
that  the  Pope  could  not  answer  his  arguments.  He 
detracted,  it  is  true,  from  the  significance  of  his  suc- 
cess by  admitting  that  no  one  in  Rome  took  him 
ail  s&ieux,  and  the  residents  in  the  Vatican  made 
sport  of  him  as  being  "  an  antediluvian.*'  It  is  a  pity 
that  they  did  not  pay  more  heed  to  what  he  said. 
A  complete  change  took  place  about  1840.  The 
older  members  whose  training  dated  from  before  the 
Revolution  were  dead,  and  the  younger  ones  nearly 
all  rallied  to  the  doctrine  of  papal  infallibility ;  but 
there  was,  despite  of  that,  a  great  gulf  between  these 
Ultramontanes  of  the  eleventh  hour  and  the  im- 
petuous deriders  of  Scholasticism  and  the  Gallican 
Church  who  were  enrolled  under  the  banner  of 
Lamennais.  St.  Sulpice  never  went  so  far  as  they 
did  in  trampling  recognized  rules  under  foot. 

It  cannot  be  denied  that  mingled  with  all  this  there 
was  a  certain  amount  of  antipathy  against  talent,  and 
of  resentment  at  interference  with  the  routine  of  the 
schoolmen  disturbed  in  their  old-fashioned  doctrines 
by  troublesome  innovators.  But  there  was  at  the 
same  time  a  good  deal  of  practical  tact  in  the  rules 
followed  by  these  prudent  directors.     They  saw  the 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  l8l 

danger  of  being  more  royalist  than  the  king,  and  they 
knew  how  easy  was  the  transition  from  one  extreme 
to  the  other.  Men  less  exempt  than  they  were,  from 
anything  like  vanity,  would  have  exulted  when 
Lamennais,  the  master  of  these  brilliant  paradoxes, 
who  had  represented  them  as  being  guilty  of  heresy 
and  lukewarmness  for  the  Holy  See,  himself  became 
a  heretic,  and  accused  the  Church  of  Rome  of  being 
the  tomb  of  human  souls  and  the  mother  of  error. 
Age  must  not  attempt  to  ape  the  ways  of  youth 
under  penalty  of  being  treated  with  disrespect. 

It  is  on  account  of  this  frankness  that  St.  Sulpice 
represents  all  that  is  most  upright  in  religion.  No 
^  attenuation  of  the  dogmas  of  Scripture  was  allowed 
at  St.  Sulpice  ;  the  fathers,  the  councils,  and  the  doc- 
tors were  looked  upon  as  the  sources  of  Christianity. 
Proof  of  the  divinity  of  Christ  was  not  sought  in 
Mahomet  or  the  battle  of  Marengo.  These  theo- 
logical buffooneries,  which  by  force  of  impudence 
and  eloquence  extorted  admiration  in  Notre-Dame, 
had  no  such  effect  upon  these  serious-minded  Chris- 
tians. They  never  thought  that  the  dogma  had  any 
need  to  be  toned  down,  veiled,  or  dressed  up  to  suit 
the  taste  of  modern  France.  They  showed  them- 
selves deficient  in  the  critical  faculty  in  supposing 
that  the  Catholicism  of  the  theologians  was  the  self- 
same religion  of  Jesus  and  the  prophets;  but  they 


1 82  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY  •YOU TIL 

did  not  invent  for  the  use  of  the  worldly,  a  Chris- 
tianity revised  and  adapted  to  their  ideas.  This  is 
v/hy  the  serious  study — may  I  even  add  the  reform 
— of  Christianity  is  more  likely  to  proceed  from  St. 
Sulpice  than  from  the  teachings  of  M.  Lacordaire  or 
M.  Gratry,  and  a  fortiori^  from  that  of  M.  Dupan- 
loup,  in  which  all  its  doctrines  are  toned  down,  con- 
torted and  blunted ;  in  which  Christianity  is  never 
represented  as  it  was  conceived  by  the  Council  of 
Trent  or  the  Vatican  Council,  but  as  a  thing  without 
frame  or  bone,  and  with  all  its  essence  taken  from  it. 
The  conversions  which  are  made  by  preaching  of 
this  kind  do  no  good  either  to  religion  or  to  the  mind. 
Conversions  of  this  kind  do-  not  make  Christians,  but 
they  warp  the  mind  and  unfit  men  for  public  busi- 
^ness.  There  is  nothing  so  mischievous  as  the  vague ; 
it  is  even  worse  that  what  is  false.  **  Truth,''  as 
Bacon  has  well  observed,  "is  derived  from  error 
rather  than  from  confusion." 

Thus,  amid  the  pretentious  pathos  which  in  our  day 
has  found  its  way  into  the  Christian  Apologia,  has 
been  preserved  a  school  of  solid  doctrine,  averse  to 
all  show  and  repugnant  to  success.  Modesty  has  ever 
been  the  special  attribute  of  the  Company  of  St. 
Sulpice  ;  this  is  why  it  has  never  attached  any  impor- 
tance to  literature,  excluding  it  almost  entirely.  The 
rule  of  the  St.  Sulpice  Company  is  to  publish  every 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1 83 

thing  anonymously,  and  to  write  in  the  most  unpre- 
tending and  retiring  style  possible.  They  see  clearly 
the  vanity,  and  the  drawbacks  of  talent,  and  they 
will  have  none  of  it.  The  word  which  best  character- 
izes them  is  mediocrity,  but  then  their  mediocrity  is 
systematic  and  self-planned.  Michelet  has  described 
the  alliance  between  the  Jesuits  and  the  Sulpicians  as 
"  a  marriage  between  death  and  vacuum."  This  is 
no  doubt  true,  but  Michelet  failed  to  see  that  in  this 
case  the  vacuum  is  loved  for  its  own  sake.  There  is 
something  touching  about  a  vacuum  created  by  men 
vv^ho  will  not  think  for  fear  of  thinking  ill.  Literary 
error  is  in  their  eyes  the  most  dangerous  of  errors,  and 
it  is  just  on  this  account  that  they  excel  in  the  true 
style  of  writing.  St.  Sulpice  is  now  the  only  place 
where,  as  formerly  at  Port-Royal,  the  style  of  writing 
possesses  that  absolute  forgetfulness  of  form  which 
is  the  proof  of  sincerity.  It  never  occurred  to  the 
masters  that  among  their  pupils  must  be  a  writer  or 
an  orator.  The  principle  which  they  insisted  upon 
the  most  earnestly  was  never  to  make  any  reference 
to  self,  and  if  one  had  anything  to  say,  to  say  it 
plainly  and  in  undertones.  It  was  all  very  well  for 
you,  my  worthy  masters,  with  that  total  ignorance  of 
the  world  which  does  you  so  much  honor,  to  take  this 
view  ;  but  if  you  knew  how  little  encouragement  the 
world  gives  to  modesty,  you  would  see  how  difficult 


1 84  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

it  is  for  literature  to  act  up  to  your  principles.  What 
would  modesty  have  done  for  M.  de  Chateaubriand? 
You  were  right  to  be  severe  upon  the  stagey  ways  of 
a  theology  reduced  so  low  as  to  bid  for  applause  by 
resorting  to  worldly  tactics.  But  what  does  one  ever 
hear  of  your  theology  ?  It  has  only  one  defect,  but 
that  is  a  serious  one ;  it  is  dead.  Your  literary 
principles  were  like  the  Rhetoric  of  Chrysippus,  of 
which  Cicero  said  that  it  was  excellent  for  teaching 
the  way  of  silence.  Whoever  speaks  or  writes  for 
the  public  ear  or  eye  must  inevitably  be  bent  upon 
succeeding.  The  great  thing  is  not  to  make  any 
sacrifice  in  order  to  attain  that  success,  and  this  is 
what  your  serious,  upright  and  honest  teaching  in- 
culcated to  perfection. 

In  this  way  St.  Sulpice  with  its  contempt  for 
literature  is  perforce  a  capital  school  for  style,  the 
fundamental  rule  of  which  is  to  have  solely  in  view 
the  thought  which  it  is  wished  to  inculcate,  and 
therefore  to  have  a  thought  in  the  mind.  This  was 
far  more  valuable  than  the  rhetoric  of  M.  Dupan- 
loup,  and  the  teaching  of  the  new  CathoHc  school. 
At  St.  Sulpice,  the  main  substance  of  a  matter  ex- 
cluded all  other  considerations.  Theology  was  of 
prime  importance  there,  and  if  the  way  in  which  the 
studies  were  shaped  was  somewhat  deficient  in  vigor, 
this  was  because  the  general  tendency  of  Cathol- 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  1 85 

icism,  especially  in  France,  is  not  in  the  direction  of 
very  high  and  sustained  efforts.  St.  Sulpice  has, 
however,  in  our  time  turned  out  a  theologian  like  M. 
Carriere,  whose  vast  labors  are  in  many  respects 
remarkable  for  their  depth;  men  of  erudition  like 
M.  Gosselin  and  M.  Faillon,  w^hose  conscientious 
researches  are  of  great  value,  and  philologists  like  M. 
Garnier,  and  especially  M.  Le  Hir,  the  only  eminent 
masters  in  the  field  of  ecclesiastical  critique  whom 
the  Catholic  school  in  France  has  turned  out. 

But  it  is  not  to  results  such  as  these  that  the 
teachers  of  St.  Sulpice  attach  the  highest  value.  St. 
Sulpice  is,  above  all,  a  school  of  virtue.  It  is  chiefly 
in  respect  to  virtue  that  St.  Sulpice  is  a  remnant 
of  the  past,  a  fossil  two  hundred  years  old.  Many 
of  my  opinions  surprise  the  outside  world,  because 
they  have  not  seen  what  I  have.  At  Sulpice  I  have 
seen,  allied  as  I  admit,  with  very  narrow  views,  the 
perfection  of  goodness,  politeness,  modesty,  and 
sacrifice  of  self.  There  is  enough  virtue  in  St.  Sul- 
pice to  govern  the  whole  world,  and  this  fact  has 
made  me  very  discriminating  in  my  appreciation  of 
what  I  have  seen  elsewhere.  I  have  never  met  but 
one  man  in  the  present  age  who  can  bear  comparison 
with  the  Sulpicians,  that  is  M.  Damiron,  and  those 
whx)  knew  him,  know  what  the  Sulpicians  were.  A 
future  generation  will  never  be  able  to  realize  what 


1 86  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

treasures  to  be  expended  in  improving  the  welfare 
of  mankind,  are  stored  up  in  these  ancient  schools 
of  silence,  gravity  and  respect. 

Such  was  the  establishment  in  which  I  spent  four 
years  at  the  most  critical  period  of  my  life.  I  was 
quite  in  my  element  there.  While  the  majority  of 
my  fellow-students,  weakened  by  the  somewhat  in- 
,  sipid  classical  teaching  of  M,  Dupanloup,  could  not 
fairly  settle  down  to  the  divinity  of  the  schools,  I  at 
once  took  a  liking  for  its  bitter  flavor ;  I  became  as 
fond  of  it  as  a  monkey  is  of  nuts.  The  grave  and 
kindly  priests,  with  their  strong  convictions  and  good 
desires,  reminded  me  of  my  early  teachers  in  Lower 
Brittany.  Saint  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet  and  its 
superficial  rhetoric,  I  came  to  look  upon  as  a  mere 
digression  of  very  doubtful  utility.  I  came  to  real- 
ities from  words,  and  I  set  seriously  to  study  and 
analyze  in  its  smallest  details  the  Christian  Faith 
which  I  more  than  ever  regarded  as  the  centre  of 
all  truth. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY. 

PART  II. 

As  I  have  already  explained,  the  two  years  of 
philosophy  which  serve  as  an  introduction  to  the 
study  of  theology  are  spent  not  in  Paris,  but  at  the 
country  house  of  Issy,  situated  in  the  village  of  that 
name  outside  Paris,  just  beyond  the  last  houses  of 
Vaugirard.  The  seminary  is  a  very  long  building  at 
one  end  of  a  large  park,  and  the  only  remarkable 
feature  about  it  is  the  central  pavilion,  which  is 
so  delicate  and  elegant  in  style  that  it  will  at  once 
take  the  eye  of  a  connoisseur.  This  pavilion  was 
the  suburban  residence  of  Marguerite  de  Valois,  the 
first  wife  of  Henri  IV.,  between  the  year  1606  and 
her  death  in  161 5.  This  clever  but  not  very  strait-^ 
laced  princess,  upon  whom,  however,  we  need  not  be 
harder  than  was  he  who  had  the  best  right  to  be  so, 
gathered  around  her  the  clever  men  of  the  day,  and 
the  Petit  Olyinpe  d'Issy,  by  Michael  Bouteroue,^ 
gives  a  good  description  of  this  bright  and  witty 
court.     The  verses  are  as  follows : 

*  Paris.     1609 — 12. 

187 


1 88  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

Je  veux  d'un  excellent  ouvrage. 
Dedans  un  portrait  racourcy, 
Representer  le  paisage 
Du  petit  Olympe  d'Issy, 
Pourvu  que  la  grande  princesse, 
La  perle  et  fleur  de  I'univers, 
A  qui  c'est  ouvrage  s'addresse 
Veuille  favoriser  mes  vers. 

Que  I'ancienne  poesie 
Ne  vante  plus  en  ses  ecrits 
Les  lauriers  du  Daphnee  d'Asie 
Et  les  beaux  jardins  de  Cypris, 
Les  promenoirs  et  le  bocage 
Du  Tempe  frait  et  ombrage, 
Qui  parut  lors  qu'un  marescage 
En  la  mer  se  fut  descharge. 

Qu'on  ne  vante  plus  la  Touraine 
Pour  son  air  doux  iet  gracieux, 
Ny  Chenonceaus,  qui  d'une  reyne 
Fut  le  jardin  delicieux, 
Ny  le  Tivoly  magnifique 
Ou  d'un  artifice  nouveau, 
Se  faict  une  douce  musique 
Des  accords  du  vent  et  de  I'eau. 

Issy,  de  beaute  les  surpasse 
En  beaux  jardins  et  pres  herbus,  ' 

Dignes  d'estre  au  lieu  de  Parnasse 
Le  sejour  des  soeurs  de  Phebus. 
Mainte  belle  source  ondoyante, 
Decoulant  de  cent  lieux  divers, 
Maintient  sa  terre  verdoyante 
Et  ses  arbrisseaux  toujours  verds. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1 89 

Un  vivier  est  a  I'advenue 
Pres  la  porte  de  ce  verger, 
Qui,  par  une  sente  cogniie, 
En  I'estang  se  va  descharger  ; 
Comme  on  voit  les  grandes  riviere 
Se  perdre  au  giron  de  la  mer, 
Ainsi  ces  sources  fontenieres 
En  I'estang  se  vont  renfermer. 


Une  autre  mare  plus  petite, 
Si  Ton  retourne  vers  le  mont, 
Par  I'ombre  de  son  boys  invite 
De  passer  sur  un  petit  pont, 
Pour  aller  au  lieu  de  delices, 
Au  plus  doux  sejour  du  plaisir, 
Des  mignardises,  des  blandices, 
Du  doux  repos  et  du  loysir. 


After  the  death  of  Queen  Margot,  the  house  was 
sold,  and  it  belonged  in  turn  to  several  Parisian 
families  which  occupied  it  until  1655.  OHer  turned 
it  to  more  pious  uses  than  it  had  known  before,  by 
inhabiting  it  during  the  last  few  years  of  his  life.  M. 
de  Bretonvilliers,  his  successor,  gave  it  to  the  Com- 
pany of  St.  Sulpice  as  a  branch  for  the  Paris  house. 
The  little  pavilion  of  Queen  Marguerite  was  not  in 
any  way  changed,  except  that  the  paintings  on  the 
walls  were  slightly  modified.  The  Venuses  were 
changed  into  Virgins,  and  the  Cupids  into  angels, 
^  while  the  emblematic  paintings  with  Spanish  mottoes 
in  the  interstices  were  left  untouched,  as  they  did 


IQO  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

not  shock  the  proprieties.  A  very  fine  room,  the 
walls  of  which  were  covered  with  paintings  of  a 
secular  character,  was  whitewashed  about  half  a  cent- 
ury ago,  but  they  would  perhaps  be  found  uninjured 
if  this  was  washed  off.  The  park  to  which  Bouteroue 
refers  in  his  poem  is  unchanged  ;  except  that  several 
statues  of  holy  persons  have  been  placed  in  it.  An 
arbor  with  an  inscription  and  two  busts  marks  the 
spot  where  Bossuet  and  Fenelon,  M.  Tronson  and 
M.  de  Noailles,  had  long  conferences  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  Quietism,  and  agreed  upon  the  thirty-four 
articles  of  the  spiritual  life,  styled  the  Issy  Articles. 
Further  on,  at  the  end  of  an  avenue  of  high  trees, 
near  the  little  cemetery  of  the  Company,  is  a  repro- 
duction of  the  inside  of  the  Santa  Casa  of  Loretta, 
which  is  a  favorite  spot  with  the  residents  in  the 
seminary,  and  which  is  decorated  with  the  emblem- 
atic paintings  of  which  they  are  so  fond.  I  can 
still  see  the  mystical  rose,  the  tower  of  ivory,  and 
the  gate  of  gold,  before  which  I  have  passed  many 
a  long  morning  in  a  state  betwixt  sleep  and  waking. 
Hortus  conclusuSy  fons  signatuSy  very  plainly  repre- 
sented by  means  of  what  may  be  described  as  mural 
miniatures,  excited  my  curiosity  very  much,  but  my 
imagination  was  too  chaste  to  carry  my  thoughts 
beyond  the  limits  of  pious  wonder.  I  am  afraid  that 
this  beautiful  park  has  been  sadly  injured  by  the  war 


THE   ISSY  SEMINARY.  I9I 

and  the  Communist  insurrection  of  1870-71.  It  was 
for  me,  after  the  cathedral  of  Treguier,  the  first 
cradle  of  thought.  I  used  to  pass  whole  hours  under 
the  shade  of  its  trees,  seated  on  a  stone  bench  with 
a  book  in  my  hand.  It  v/as  there  that  I  acquired 
not  only  a  good  deal  of  rheumatism,  but  a  great 
liking  for  our  damp  autumnal  nature  in  the  nortb  of 
France.  If,  later  in  life,  I  have  been  charmed  by 
Mount  Hermon,  and  the  sun-heated  slopes  of  the 
Antilebanon,  it  is  due  to  the  polarization  which  is 
the  law  of  love  and  which  leads  us  to  seek  out  our 
opposites.  My  first  ideal  is  a  cool  Jansenist  bower 
of  the  seventeenth  century  in  October,  with  the  keen 
impression  of  the  air  and  the  searching  odor  of  the 
dying  leaves.  I  can  never  see  an  old-fashioned 
French  house  in  the  Seine-et-Oise  or  the  Seine-et 
Marne,  with  its  trim  fenced  gardens,  without  calling 
up  to  my  mind  the  austere  books  which  were  in  by- 
gone days  read  beneath  the  shade  of  their  walks. 
Deep  should  be  our  pity  for  those  who  have  never 
been  moved  to  these  melancholy  thoughts,  and  who 
have  not  realized  how  many  sighs  have  been  heaved 
ere  joy  came  into  our  heart. 

The  mutual  footing  upon  which  masters  and 
students  at  St.  Sulpice  stand  is  a  very  tolerant  one. 
There  is  not  beyond  doubt  a  single  establishment  in 
the  world  where  the  student  has  more  liberty.     At 


192  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

St.  Sulpice  in  Paris,  a  student  might  pass  his  three 
years  without  having  any  close  communication  with 
a  single  one  of  the  superiors.  It  is  assumed  that 
/the  regime  of  the  establishment  will  be  self-acting. 
The  superiors  lead  just  the  same  life  as  the  students, 
and  intervene  as  little  as  possible.  A  student  who 
is  anxious  to  work  has  the  greatest  of  facilities  for 
doing  so.  Upon  the  other  hand,  those  who  are  in- 
clined to  be  idle  have  no  compulsion  to  w^ork  put 
upon  them ;  and  there  are  very  many  in  this  case. 
The  examinations  are  very  insignificant  in  scope  ; 
there  is  not  the  least  attempt  at  competition,  and  if 
there  was  it  would  be  discouraged,  though  when  we 
remember  that  the  age  of  the  students  averages  be- 
tween eighteen  and  twenty,  this  is  carrying  the 
doctrine  of  non-intervention  too  far.  It  is  beyond 
doubt  very  prejudicial  to  learning.  But  after  all 
said  and  done,  this  unqualified  respect  -for  liberty 
and  the  treating  as  grown-up  men  of  the  lads  who 
are  already  in  spirit  set  apart  for  the  priesthood, 
are  the  only  proper  rules  to  follow  in  the  delicate 
task  of  training  youths  for  what  is  in  the  eye  of  the 
Christian  the  most  exalted  of  callings.  I  am  my- 
self of  opinion  that  the  same  rule  might  be  applied 
with  advantage  to  the  department  of  Public  In- 
struction, and  that  the  Normal  School  more  espe- 
cially might  in  some  particulars  take  example  by  it. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  193 

The  superior  at  Issy,  during  my  stay  there,  was 
M,  Gos^elii^.ljCUie.  of  the  most  amiable  and  poHte 
men  I  have  ever  known.  He  was  a  member  of 
one  of  those  old  bourgeois  families  which,  without 
being  affiliated  to  the  Jansenists,  were  not  less 
deeply  attached  than  the  latter  to  religion.  His 
mother,  to  whom  he  bore  a  great  likeness,  was  still 
alive,  and  he  was  most  devoted  in  his  respectful 
regard  for  her.  He  was  very  fond  of  recalling  the 
first  lessons  in  politeness  which  she  gave  him  some- 
where about  1796.  He  had  accustomed  himself  in 
his  childhood  to  adopt  a  usage  which  it  was  at  that 
time  dangerous  to  repudiate,  and  to  use  the  word 
citizen  instead  of  monsieur.  As  soon  as  mass  began 
to  be  celebrated  after  the  Revolution,  his  mother 
took  him  with  her  to  church.  They  were  nearly  the 
only  persons  in  the  church,  and  his  mother  bade  him 
go  and  offer  to  act  as  .^colyte  to  the  priest.  The 
boy  went  up  timidly  to  the  priest,  and  with  a  blush 
said,  "  Citizen,  will  you  allow  me  to  serve  mass  for 
you  ?  "  "  What  are  you  saying !  "  exclaimed  his 
mother,  "  you  should  never  use  the  word  citizen  to 
a  priest.*'  His  affability  and  kindness  were  beyond 
all  praise.  He  was  very  delicate,  and  only  attained 
an  advanced  age  by  exercising  the  strictest  care  over 
himself.  His  engaging  features,  wan^and  delicate, 
his  slender  body,  which  did  not  half  fill  the  folds  of 
9 


194  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

his  cassock,  his  exquisite  cleanliness,  the  result  of 
habits  contracted  in  childhood,  his  hollow  temples, 
the  outlines  of  which  were  so  clearly  marked  behind 
the  loose  silk  skull-cap  which  he  always  wore,  made 
up  a  very  taking  picture. 

M.  Gosselin  was  more  remarkable  for  his  erudition 
than  his  theology.  He  was  a  safe  critic  within  The 
limits  of  an  orthodoxy  which  he  never  thought  of 
questioning,  and  he  was  placid  to  a  degree.  His 
Histoire  Litteraire  de  Fdnelon  is  a  much-esteemed 
work,  and  his  treatise  on  the  power  of  the  Pope 
over  the  sovereign  in  the  Middle  Ages,"^^  is  full  of 
research.  It  was  written  at  a  time  when  the  works 
of  Voigta  and  Hurter  revealed  to  the  Catholics  the 
greatness  of  the  Roman  pontiffs  in  the  eleventh  and 
twelfth  centuries.  This  greatness  was  rather  an 
awkward  obstacle  for  the  Galileans,  as  there  could 
be  no  doubt  that  the  conduct  of  Gregory  VH.  and 
Innocent  III.  was  not  at  all  in  conformity  with  the 
maxims  of  1682.  M.  Gosselin  thought  that  by 
means  of  a  principle  of  public  law,  accepted  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  he  had  solved  all  the  difficulties  which 
these  imposing  narratives  place  in  the  way  of  the- 
ologians. M.  Carriere  was  rather  inclined  to  laugh 
at  his  sanguine  ideas,  and  compared  his  efforts  to 
those  of   an   old   woman  who   tries   to  thread  her 

*  First  Edition,  1839  ;  second  and  much  enlarged  edition,  1845. 


THE   ISSY  SEMIiVARY,  1 95 

needle  by  holding  it  tight  between  the  lamp  and  her 
spectacles.  At  last  the  cotton  passes  so  close  to  the 
eye  of  the  needle  that  she  says  "  I  have  done  it 
now ! " — Not  so,  though  she  was  scarcely  a  hair's 
breadth  off ;  but  still  she  must  begin  again. 

At  my  own  inclination,  and  the  advice  of  Abbe 
Tresvaux,  a  pious  and  learned  Breton  priest  who  was 
vicar-general  to  M.  de  Quelen,  I  chose  M.  Gosselin 
for  my  tutor,  and  I  have  retained  a  most  affection- 
ate recollection  of  him.  No  one  could  have  shown 
more  benevolence,  cordiality  and  respect  for  a  young 
man's  conscience.  He  left  me  in  possession  of  unre- 
stricted liberty.  Recognizing  the  honesty  of  my 
character,  the  purity  of  my  morals  and  .the  upright- 
ness of  my  mind,  it  never  occurred  to  him  for  a 
moment  that  I  could  be  led  to  feel  doubt  upon  sub- 
jects about  which  he  himself  had  none.  The  great 
number  of  young  ecclesiastics  who  had  passed 
through  his  hands  had  somewhat  weakened  his 
powers  of  diagnosis.  He  classed  his  students  whole- 
sale, and  I  will,  as  I  proceed,  explain  how  one  who 
was  not  my  tutor  read  far  more  clearly  into  my  con- 
science than  he  did,  or  than  I  did  myself.  Two  of 
the  other  tutors,  M.  Gottofrey,  one  of  the  professors 
of  philosophy,  and  M.  Pinault,  professor  of  math- 
ematics and  natural  philosophy,  were  in  every 
respect  a  contrast  to  M.  Gosselin.     The  first  named, 


196  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

a  young  priest  of  about  seven  and  twenty,  was,  I 
believe,  only  half  a  Frenchman  by  descent.  He  had 
the  bright  rosy  complexion  of  a  young  Englishwoman, 
with  large  eyes  which  had  a  melancholy  c^ndiilaok. 
He  was  the  most  extraordinary  instance  which  can 
be  conceived  of  suicide  through  mystical  orthodoxy. 
He  would  certainly  have  made,  if  he  had  cared  to 
do  so,  an  accomplished  man  of  the  world,  and  I  have 
never  known  any  one  who  would  have  been  a  greater 
favorite  with  women.  He  had  within  him  an  infinite 
capacity  for  loving.  He  felt  that  he  had  been 
highly  gifted  in  this  way  ;  and  then  he  set  to  work, 
in  a  sort  of  blind  fury,  to  annihilate  himself.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  discerned  Satan  in  those  graces 
which  God  had  so  liberally  bestowed  upon  him.  He 
boiled  with  inward  anger  at  the  sight  of  his  own 
comeliness;  he  was  like  a  shell  within  which  a  puny 
evil  genius  was  ever  busy  in  crushing  the  inner  pearl. 
In  the  heroic  ages  of  Christianity,  he  would  have 
sought  out  the  keen  agony  of  martyrdom,  but  failing 
that  he  paid  such  constant  court  to  death  that  she, 
whom  alone  he  loved,  embraced  him  at  last.  He 
went  out  to  Canada,  and  the  cholera  which  raged  at 
Montreal  gave  him  an  excellent  opportunity  for 
attaining  his  end.  He  nursed  the  sick  with  eager  joy 
and  died. 

I  have  always  thought  that  there  must  have  been 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  1 97 

a  hidden  romance  in  the  hfe  of  M.  Gottofrey,  and 
that  he  had  undergone  some  disappointment  in  love. 
He  had  perhaps  expected  too  much  from  it,  and 
finding  that  it  was  not  boundless,  had  broken  it  as  he 
would  an  idol.  At  all  events  he  was  not  one  of  those 
who,  knowing  how  to  love  have  not  known  how  to 
die.  At  times  I  fancy  that  I  can  see  him  in  heaven 
amid  the  Ifosts  of  rosy-hued  angels  which  Correggio 
loved  to  paint :  at  others,  I  imagine  that  the  woman 
whom  he  might  have  taught  to  love  him  to  distrac- 
tion is  scourging  him  through  all  eternity.  Where 
he  was  unjust  was  in  making  his  reason,  which  was 
in  nowise  to  blame,  suffer  for  the  perturbation  of 
his  uneasy  nature  (or  spirit).  He  practised  the 
studied  absurdity  of  TertuUian  and  emulated  the 
exaltation  of  St.  Paul.  His  lectures  on  philosophy 
were  an  absolute  travesty,  as  his  contempt  for  phi- 
losophy was  made  apparent  in  every  sentence  ;  and 
Gosselin,  who  set  great  value  upon  the  divinity  of 
the  schools,  quietly  endeavored  to  counteract  his 
teaching.  But  fanaticism  does  not  always  prevent 
people  from  being  clear-sighted.  M.  Gottofrey  no- 
ticed something  peculiar  about  me,  and  he  detected 
that  which  had  escaped  the  paternal  optimism  of  M. 
Gosselin.  He  stirred  my  conscience  to  its  very 
depths,  as  I  shall  presently  explain,  and  with  an 
unrelenting  hand  tore  asunder  all  the  bandages  with 


1 98  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

which  I  had  disguised  even  from  myself  the  wounds 
of  a  faith  already  severely  stricken. 

M.  Pinault  was  very  much  like  M.  Littre  in  respect 
to  his  concentrated  passion  and  the  originality  of  his 
ways.  If  M.  Littre  had  received  a  Catholic  educa- 
tion, he  would  have  gone  to  the  extreme  of  mysti- 
cism ;  if  M.  Pinault  had  not  received  a  Catholic 
education  he  would  have  been  a  revolutionist  and  a 
positivist.  Men  of  their  stamp  always  go  to  one 
extreme  or  another.  The  very  physiognomy  of  M. 
Pinault  arrested  attention.  Eaten  up  by  rheuma- 
tism, he  seemed  to  embody  in  his  person  all  the  ways 
in  which  a  body  may  be  contorted  from  its  proper 
shape.  Ugly  as  he  was,  there  was  a  marked  expres- 
sion of  vigor  about  his  face  ;  but  in  direct  contrast 
to  M.  Gosselin,  he  was  deplorably  lacking  in  cleanli- 
ness. While  he  was  lecturing  he  would  use  his  old 
cloak  and  the  sleeves  of  his  cassock  as  if  it  were  a 
duster  to  wipe  up  anything ;  and  his  skull-cap,  lined 
with  cotton  wool  to  protect  him  from  neuralgia, 
formed  a  very  ugly  border  round  his  head.  With, 
all  that  he  was  full  of  passion  and  eloquence,  some- 
what sarcastic  at  times,  but  witty  and  incisive.  He 
had  little  literary  culture,  but  he  often  came  out 
with  some  unexpected  sally.  You  could  feel  that 
his  was  a  powerful  individuality  which  faith  kept 
under  due  control,  but  which  ecclesiastical  discipHne 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  199 

had  not  crushed.  He  was  a  saint,  but  had  very 
httle  of  the  priest  and  nothing  of  the  Sulpician  about 
him.  He  did  violence  to  the  prime  rule  of  the  com- 
pany, which  is  to  renounce  anything  approaching 
talent  and  originality,  and  to  be  pliant  to  the  disci- 
pHne  which  enjoys  a  general  mediocrity. 

M.  Pinault  had  at  first  been  professor  of  mathe- 
matics in  the  university.  In  associating  himself  with 
studies  Xvhich,  in  our  view,  are  incompatible  with  faith 
in  the  supernatural  and  fervent  Catholicism,  he  did  no 
more  than  M.  Cauchy,  who  was  at  once  a  mathemati- 
cian of  the  first  order  and  a  more  fervent  believer  than 
many  members  of  the  Academy  of  Sciences  who  are 
noted  for  their  piety.  Christianity  is  alleged  to  be  a  ^ 
supernatural  historical  fact.  The  historical  sciences 
H  can  be  made  to  show — and  to  my  mind,  beyond 
the  possibility  of  contradiction — that  it  is  not  a 
supernatural  fact,  and  that  there  never  has  been  such 
a  thing  as  a  supernatural  fact.  We  do  not  reject 
miracles  upon  the  ground  of  a  pi'iori  reasoning,  but 
upon  the  ground  of  critical  and  historical  reasoning ; 
we  have  no  difficulty  in  proving  that  miracles  do  not 
happen  in  the  nineteenth  century,  and  that  the 
stories  of  miraculous  events  said  to  have  taken  place 
in  our  day,  are  based  upon  imposture  and  credulity. 
But  the  evidence  in  favor  of  the  so-called  miracles 
of  the  last  three  centuries,  or  even  of  those  in  the 


200  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

Middle  Ages,  is  weaker  still ;  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  those  dating  from  a  still  earlier  period,  for 
the  further  back  one  goes,  the  more  difficult  does  it 
become  to  prove  a  supernatural  fact.  In  order 
thoroughly  to  understand  this,  you  must  have  been 
accustomed  to  textual  criticism  and  the  historical 
method,  and  this  is  just  what  mathematics  do  not 
give.  Even  in  our  own  day,  we  have  seen  an 
eminent  mathematician  fall  into  blunders  which  the 
slightest  knowledge  of  historical  science  would  have 
enabled  him  to  avoid.  |  M.  Pinault's  religious  belief  was 
so  keen  that  he  was  anxious  to  become  a  priest.  He 
was  allowed  to  do  very  little  in  the  way  of  theology, 
and  he  was  at  first  attached  to  the  science  courses 
which  in  the  programme  of  ecclesiastical  studies  are 
the  necessary  accompaniment  of  the  two  years  of 
philosophy.  He  would  have  been  out  of  place  at 
St.  Sulpice  with  his  lack  of  theological  knowledge 
and  the  ardent  mysticism  of  his  imagination.  But  at 
Issy,  where  he  associated  with  very  young  men  who 
had  not  studied  the  texts,  he  soon  acquired  con- 
siderable influence.  He  w^as  the  leader  of  those 
who  were  full  of  ardent  piety — the  *^  mystics,"  as 
they  are  now  called.  All  of  them  treated  him  as 
their  director,  and  they  formed,  as  it  were,  a  school 
apart,  from  which  the  profane  were  excluded,  and 
which  had  its  own  important  secrets.    A  very  power- 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  20I 

ful  auxiliary  of  this  party  was  the  lay  door-keeper 
of  the  college,  Pere  Hanique,  as  we  called  him.  I 
always  excite  the  wonder  of  the  reahsts  when  I  tell 
them  that  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes,  a  type 
which,  owing  to  their  scanty  knowledge  of  human 
society,  has  never  come  beneath  their  notice,  viz., 
the  sublime  conception  of  a  hall-porter  who  has 
reached  the  most  transcendent  limits  of  speculation. 
Hanique  in  his  humble  lodge  was  almost  as  great  dT 
man  as  M.  Pinault.  Those  who  aimed  at  saintliness 
of  life  consulted  him  and  looked  up  to  him.  His 
simplicity  of  mind  was  contrasted  with  the  savant's, 
coldness  of  soul,  and  he  was  adduced  as  an  instance 
that  the  gifts  of  God  are  absolutely  free. /AH  this 
created  a  deep  division  of  feeling  in  the  college. 
The  mystics  worked  themselves  up  to  such  a  pitch 
of  mental  tension  that  several  of  them  died,  but 
this -only  increased  the  frenzy  of  the  others.  M. 
Gosselin  had  too  much  tact  to  offer  them  a  direct 
opposition,  but  for  all  that,  there  were  two  distinct 
parties  in  the  college,  the  mystics  acting  under  the 
immediate  guidance  of  M.  Pinault  and  Pere  Hanique, 
while  the  '^  good  fellows"  (as  we  modestly  entitled 
ourselves)  were  guided  by  the  simple,  upright,  and 
good  Christian  counsels  of  M.  Gosselin.  This 
division  of  opinion  was  scarcely  noticeable  among 
the  masters.  Nevertheless,  M.  Gosselin,  disliking 
9* 


202  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

anything  in  the  way  of  singularities  or  novelties, 
often  looked  askance  at  certain  eccentricities.  Dur- 
ing recreation  time  he  made  a  point  of  conversing 
in  a  gay  and  almost  worldly  tone,  in  contrast  to  the 
fine  frenzy  which  M.  Pinault  always  imported  into 
his  observations.  He  did  not  like  Pere  Hanique  and 
would  not  listen  to  any  praise  of  him,  perhaps  be- 
cause he  felt  the  impropriety  of  a  hall-porter  being 
taken  out  of  his  place  and  set  up  as  an  authority  on 
theology.  He  condemned  and  prohibited  the  read- 
ing of  several  books  which  were  favorites  with  the 
mystical  set,  such  as  those  of  Marie  d*Agreda. 
There  was  something  very  singular  about  M. 
Pinault*s  lectures,  as  he  did  not  make  any  effort  to 
cdfir^?al~"^is  contempt  for  the  sciences  which  he 
taught  and  for  the  human  intelligence  at  large.  At 
times  he  would  nearly  go  to  sleep  over  his  class,  and 
altogether  gave  his  pupils  anything  but  a  stimulus 
to  work  ;  and  yet  with  all  that  he  still  had  in  him 
remnants  of  the  scientific  spirit  which  he  had  failed 
to  destroy.  At  times  he  had  extraordinary  flashes 
of  genius,  and  some  of  his  lectures  on  natural  his- 
tory have  been  one  of  the  bases  of  my  philosophical 
strain  of  thought.  I  am  much  indebted  to  him,  but 
the  instinct  for  learning  which  is  in  me,  and  which 
will,  I  trust,  remain  alive  until  the  day  of  my  death, 
would  not  admit  of  my  remaining  long  in  his  set. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  203 

He  liked  me  well  enough,  but  made  no  effort  to 
attract  me  to  him.  His  fiery  spirit  of  apostleship 
could  not  brook  my  easy-going  ways,  and  my  disin- 
clination for  research.  Upon  one  occasion  he  found 
me  sitting  in  one  of  the  walks,  reading  Clarke's 
treatise  upon  the  Existence  of  God,  As  usual,  I  was 
wrapped  up  in  a  heavy  coaT;.  "  Oh  !  the  nice  little 
fellow,"  he  said,  ^^  how  beautifully  he  is  wrapped  up ! 
Do  not  interfere  with  him.  He  will  always  be  the 
same.  He  will  ever  be  studying,  and  when  he 
should  be  attending  to  the  charge  of  souls  he  will  be 
at  it  still.  Well  wrapped  up  in  his  cloak,  he  will  an- 
swer those  who  come  to  call  him  away :  *  Leave  me 
alone,  can't  you  ?'  "  He  s^w  that  his  remark  had 
gone  home.  I  was  confused  but  not  converted,  and 
as  I  made  no  reply,  he  pressed  my  hand  and  added, 
with  a  slight  touch  of  irony,  "  he  will  be  a  little 
Gosselin." 

M.  Pinault,  there  can  be  no  question,  was  far  above 
M.  Gosselin  in  respect  to  his  natural  force  and  the 
hardihood  with  which  he  took  up  certain  views.  Like 
another  Diogenes,  he  saw  how  hollow  and  conven- 
tional were  a  host  of  things  which  my  worthy 
director  regarded  as  articles  of  faith.  But  he  did 
not  shake  me  for  a  moment.  I  have  never  ceased 
to  put  faith  in  the  intelligence  of  man.  M.  Gosselin, 
by  his  confidence  in  scholasticism,  confirmed  me  in 


204  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

my  rationalism,  though  not  to  so  great  an  extent  as 
M.  Manier,  one  of  the  professors  of  philosophy.  He 
was  a  man  of  unswerving  honesty,  whose  opinions 
were  in  harmony  with  those  of  the  moderate  univer- 
sitarian  school,  at  that  time  so  decried  by  the  clergy. 
He  had  a  great  liking  for  the  Scottish  philosophers, 
and  gave  me  Thomas  R*eid  to  study.  He  steadied 
my  thoughts  very  much,  and  by  the  aid  of  his 
authority  and  that  of  M.  Gosselin,  I  was  enabled  to 
put  away  the  exaggerations  of  M.  Pinault ;  my  con- 
science was  at  rest,  and  I  even  got  to  think  that  the 
contempt  for  scholasticism  and  reason,  so  stoutly 
professed  by  the  mystics,  was  not  devoid  of  heresy, 
and  of  the  worst  of  all  heresies  in  the  eyes  of  the 
company  of  St.  Sulpice,  viz.,  the  Fideism  of  M.  de 
Lamennais. 

Thus  I  gave  myself  over  without  scruple  to  my 
love  for  study,  living  in  complete  solitude  during 
two  whole  years.  I  did  not  once  come  to  Paris, 
readily  as  leaves  were  granted.  I  never  joined  in 
any  games,  passing  the  recreation  hours  on  a  seat  in 
the  grounds,  and  trying  to  keep  myself  warm  by 
wearing  two  or  three  overcoats.  The  heads  of  the 
college,  better  advised  than  I  was,  told  me  how  bad 
it  was  for  a  lad  of  my  age  to  take  no  exercise.  I 
had  scarcely  done  growing  before  I  began  to  stoop. 
But  my  passion  for  study  was  too  strong  for  me, 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  205 

and  I  gave  way  to  it  all  the  more  readily  because  I 
believed  it  to  be  a  wholesome  one.  I  was  bhnd  to 
all  else,  but  how  could  I  suppose  that  the  ardor  for 
thought  which  I  heard  praised  in  Malebranche  and 
so  many  other  saintly  and  illustrious  men,  was 
blameworthy  in  me,  and  was  fated  to  bring  about  a 
result  which  I  should  have  repudiated  with  indigna- 
tion if  it  had  been  foreshadowed  to  me. 

The  character  of  the  philosophy  taught  in  the 
seminary  was  the  Latin  divinity  of  the  schools — not 
in  the  outlandish  and  childish  form  which  it  assumed 
in  the  thirteenth  century,  but  in  the  mitigated  Car- 
tesian form  which  was  generally  adopted  for  eccle- 
siastical education  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  set 
out  in  the  three  volumes  known  by  the  name  of 
Philosophie  de  Lyon,  This  name  was  given  to  it  be- 
cause the  book  formed  part  of  a  complete  course 
of  ecclesiastical  study,  drawn  up  a  hundred  years 
ago  by  order  of  M.  de  Montazet,  the  Jansenist  Arch- 
bishop of  Lyons.  The  theological  part  of  the  work, 
tainted  with  heresy,  is  now  forgotten ;  but  the  philo- 
sophical part,  imbued  with  a  very  commendable 
spirit  of  rationalism,  remained,  as  recently  as  1840, 
the  basis  of  philosophical  teaching  in  the  seminaries, 
much  to  the  disgust  of  the  neo-Catholic  school, 
which  regarded  the  book  as  dangerous  and  absurd. 
It  cannot    be  denied,  however,  that  the  problems 


206  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

were  cleverly  put,  and  the  whole  of  these  syllogis- 
tical  dialectics  formed  an  excellent  course  of  training. 
I  owe  my  lucidity  of  mind,  more  especially  what 
skill  I  possess  in  dividing  my  subject  (which  is  an 
art  of  capital  importance,  one  of  the  conditions  of 
the  art  of  writing),  to  my  divinity  training,  and  in 
particular  to  geometry,  which  is  the  truest  applica- 
tion of  the  syllogistical  method.  M.  Manier  mixed 
up  with  these  ancient  propositions  the  psychological 
analysis  of  the  Scotch  school.  He  had  imbibed 
through  his  intimacy  with  Thomas  Reid  a  great 
aversion  from  metaphysics,  and  an  unlimited  faith 
in  common  sense.  Posuit  in  visceribus  homhtis  sapien- 
tiam  was  his  favorite  motto,  and  it  did  not  occur 
to  him  that  if  man,  in  his  quest  after  the  true  and 
the  good,  has  only  to  explore  the  recesses  of  his 
own  heart,  the  Cai^chisme  of  M.  Olier  was  a  build- 
ing without  a  foundation.  German  philosophy  was 
just  beginning  to  be  known,  and  what  little  I  had 
been  able  to  pick  up  had  a  strangely  fascinating 
effect  upon  me.  M.  Manier  impressed  upon  me 
that  this  philosophy  shifted  its  ground  too  much, 
and  that  it  was  necessary  to  wait  until  it  had  com- 
pleted its  development  before  passing  judgment 
upon  it.  "  Scottish  philosophy,"  he  said,  "  has  a 
reassuring  influence  and  makes  for  Christianity ;  '* 
and  he  depicted  to  me  the  worthy  Thomas  Reid  vci 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  20/ 

his  double  character  of  philosopher  and  minister  of 
the  Gospel.  Thus  Reid  was  for  some  time  my  ideal, 
and  my  aspiration  was  to  lead  the  peaceful  life  of  a 
laborious  priest,  attached  to  his  duties  and  dispensed 
from  the  ordinary  duties  of  his  calling  in  order  to 
follow  out  his  studies.  The  antagonism  between 
philosophical  pursuits  of  this  kind  and  the  Christian 
faith  had  not  as  yet  come  in  upon  me  with  the  irre- 
sistible force  and  clearness  which  was  soon  to  leave 
me  no  alternative  between  the  renunciation  of 
Christianity  and  inconsistency  of  the  most  unwar- 
rantable kind. 

The  modern  philosophical  works,  especially  those 
of  MM.  Cousin  and  Jouffroy,  were  rarely  seen  in  the 
seminary,  though  they  were  the  constant  subject  of 
conversation  on  account  of  the  discussion  which 
they  had  excited  among  the  clergy.  This  was  the 
year  of  M.  Jouffroy's  death,  and  the  pathetic  des- 
pairing pages  of  his  philosophy  captivated  us.  I 
myself  knew  them  by  heart.  We  followed  with 
deep  interest  the  discussion  raised  by  the  publication 
of  his  posthumous  works.  In  reality,  we  only  knew 
Cousin,  Jouffroy  and  Pierre  Leroux  by  those  who 
had  opposed  them.  The  old-fashioned  divinity  of 
the  schools  is  so  upright  that  no  demonstration  of  a 
proposition  is  complete  unless  followed  by  the 
formula,  Solvimtur  object  a.     Herein  are  ingenuously 


208  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

set  forth  the  objection,  against  the  proposition  which 
it  is  sought  to  estabhsh ;  and  these  objections  are 
then  solved,  often  in  a  way  which  does  not  in  the 
least  diminish  the  force  of  the  heterodox  ideas  which 
are  supposed  to  have  been  controverted.  In  this 
way  the  whole  body  of  modern  ideas  reached  us  be- 
neath the  cover  of  feeble  refutations.  We  gained, 
moreover,  a  great  deal  of  information  from  each 
other.  One  of  our  number,  who  had  studied  philos- 
ophy in  the  university,  would  recite  passages  from 
M.  Cousin  to  us ;  a  second,  who  had  studied  history, 
would  familiarize  us  with  Augustin  Thierry  ;  while  a 
third  came  to  us  from  the  school  of  Montalembert 
and  Lacordaire.  His  lively  imagination  made  him 
a  great  favorite  with  us,  but  the  Philosophie  de  Lyon 
was  more  than  he  could  endure,  and  he  left  us. 

M.  Cousin  fascinated  us,  but  Pierre  Leroux,  with 
his  tone  of  profound  conviction  and  his  thorough  ap- 
preciation of  the  great  problems  awaiting  solution, ex- 
ercised a  still  more  potent  influence,  and  we  did  not 
see  the  shortcomings  of  his  studies  and  the  sophist- 
ry of  his  mind.  My  customary  course  of  reading 
was  Pascal,  Malebranche,  Euler,  Locke,  Leibnitz, 
Descartes,  Reid,  and  Dugald-Stewart.  In  the  way 
of  religious  books,  my  preferences  were  for  Bossuet's 
Sermons  and  the  EUvations  sur  Ics  Mysiercs,  I  was 
very  familiar,  too,  with  Francois  de  Sales,  both  by  con- 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  209 

tinually  hearing  extracts  from  his  works  read  in  the 
seminary,  and  especially  through  the  charming  work 
which  Pierre  le  Camus  has  written  about  him.  With 
regard  to  the  more  mystical  works,  such  as  St.  The- 
resa, Marie  d'Agreda,  Ignatius  de  Loyola,  and  M. 
Olier,  I  never  read  them.  M.  Gosselin,  as  I  have 
said,  dissuaded  me  from  doing  so.  The  Lives  of  the 
Saints,  written  in  an  overwrought  strain,  were  also 
very  distasteful  to  him,  and  Fenelon  was  his  rule 
and  his  limit.  Many  of  the  early  saints  excited  his 
strongest  prejudices  because  of  their  disregard  of 
cleanliness,  their  scant  education,  and  their  lack  of 
common  sense. 

My  keen  predilection  for  philosophy  did  not  blind 
me  as  to  the  inevitable  nature  of  its  results.  I  soon 
lost  all  confidence  in  the  abstract  metaphysics  which 
are  put  forward  as  being  a  science  apart  from  all 
others,  and  as  being  capable  of  solving  alone  the 
highest  problems  of  humanity.  Positive  science  then 
appeared  to  me  to  be  the  only  source  of  truth.  In 
after  years  I  felt  quite  .  irritated  at  the  idea  of 
Auguste  Comte  being  dignified  with  the  title  of  a 
great  man  for  having  expressed  in  bad  French  what 
all  scientific  minds  had  seen  for  the  last  two  hundred 
years  as  clearly  as  he  had  done.  The  scientific  spirit 
was  the  fundamental  principle  in  my  disposition. 
M.  Pinault  v/ould  have  been  the  master  for  me  if  he 


2IO  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

had  not  in  some  strange  way  striven  to  disguise  and 
distort  the  best  traits  in  his  talent.  I  understood 
him  better  than  he  would  have  wished,  and,  in  spite 
of  himself.  I  had  received  a  rather  advanced  educa- 
cation  in  mathematics  from  my  first  teachers  in 
Brittany.  Mathematics  and  physical  induction  have 
always  been  my  strong  point,  the  only  stones  in  the 
edifice  which  have  never  shifted  their  ground  and 
which  are  always  serviceable.  M.  Pinault  taught  me 
enough  of  general  natural  history  and  physiology  to 
give  me  an  insight  into  the  laws  of  existence.  I 
realized  the  insufficiency  of  what  is  called  spiritual- 
ism ;  the  Cartesian  proofs  of  the  existence  of  a  soul 
distinct  from  the  body  always  struck  me  as  being 
very  inadequate,  and  thus  I  became  an  idealist  and 
not  a  spiritualist  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the 
term.  An  endless  ^^r/,  a  ceaseless  metamorphosis 
seemed  to  me  to  be  the  law  of  the  world.  Nature 
presented  herself  to  me  as  a  whole  in  which  creation 
of  itself  has  no  place,  and  in  which,  therefore,  every- 
thing undergoes  transformation."^  It  will  be  asked 
how  it  was  that  this  fairly  clear  conception  of  a  pos- 

*  An  essay  which  describes  my  philosophical  ideas  at  this  epoch, 
entitled  the  "Origine  dii  Langage,"  first  published  in  the  Liberie  de 
/^;zj-^r  (September  and  December,  1848)  faithfully  portrays,  as  I  then 
conceived  it,  the  spectacle  of  living  nature  as  the  result  and  evi- 
dence of  a  very  ancient  historical  development. 


THE  ISS Y  SEMINAR  V,  211 

itive  philosophy  did  not  eradicate  my  behef  in  scho- 
lasticism and  Christianity.  It  was  because  I  was 
young  and  inconsistent,  and  because  I  had  not  ac- 
quired the  critical  faculty.  I  was  held  back  by  the 
example  of  so  many  mighty  minds  which  had  read 
so  deeply  in  the  book  of  nature,  and  yet  had  re- 
mained Christians.  I  was  more  specially  influenced 
by  Malebranche,  who  continued  to  recite  his  prayers 
throughout  the  whole  of  his  life,  while  holding,  with 
regard  to  the  general  dispensation  of  the  universe, 
ideas  differing  but  very  little  from  those  which  I 
had  arrived  at.  The  Ejitretiens  sur  la  Metaphysique 
and  the  Meditations  chr^tiennes  were  ever  in  my 
thoughts. 

The  fondness  for  erudition  is  innate  in  me,  and 
M.  Gosselin  did  much  to  develop  it.  He  had  the 
kindness  to  choose  me  as  his  reader.  At  seven 
o'clock  every  morning  I  went  to  read  to  him  in 
I  his  bedroom,  and  he  was  in  the  habit  of  pacing  up 
and  down,  sometimes  stopping,  sometimes  quicken- 
ing his  pace  and  interrupting  me  with  some  sensible 
or  caustic  remark.  In  this  way  I  read  to  him  the 
long  stories  of  Father  Maimbourg,  a  writer  who  is 
now  forgotten,  but  who  in  his  time  was  appreciated 
by  Voltaire,  various  publications  by  M.  Benjamin 
Guerard,  whose  learning  was  much  appreciated  by 
him,  and  a  few  works  by  M.  de  Maistre,  notably  his 


212  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTIL 

Lettre  sur  r Inquisition  espagnole.  He  did  not  much 
like  this  last-named  treatise,  and  he  would  constantly 
rub  his  hands  and  say,  *'  How  plain  it  is  that  M.  de 
Maistre  is  no  theologian."  All  he  cared  for  was  the- 
ology, and  he  had  a  profound  contempt  for  litera- 
ture. He  rarely  failed  to  stigmatize  as  futile  non- 
sense the  bighly  esteemed  studies  of  the  Nicolaites. 
For  M.  Dupanloup,  whose  principal  dogma  was  that 
there  is  no  salvation  without  a  good  literary  educa- 
tion, he  had  little  sympathy,  and  he  generally  avoid- 
ed mention  of  his  name. 

For  myself,  believing  as  I  do  that  the  best  way  to 
mould  young  men  of  talent  is  never  to  speak  to  them 
about  talent  or  style,  but  to  educate  them  and  to 
stimulate  their  mental  curiosity  upon  questions  of 
philosophy,  religion,  politics,  science,  and  history— 
or,  in  other  words,  to  go  to  the  substance  of  tilings 
instead  of  adopting  a  hollow  rhetorical  teaching,  I 
was  quite  satisfied  at  this  new  direction  given  to  my 
studies.  I  forgot  the  very  existence  of  such  a  thing 
as  modern  literature.  The  rumor  that  contemporary 
writers  existed  occasionally  reached  us,  but  we  were 
so  accustomed  to  suppose  that  there  had  not  been  any 
of  talent  since  the  death  of  Louis  XIV.,  that  we  had 
an  ^  priori  contempt  for  all  contemporary  produc- 
tions. Le  Telemaqtic  was  the  only  specimen  of  light 
literature  which  ever  came  into  my  hands,  and  that 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY,  213 

was  in  an  edition  which  did  not  contain  the  Eucharis 
episode,  so  that  it  was  not  until  later  that  I  became 
acquainted  with  the  few  delightful  pages  which  re- 
cord it.  My  only  glimpse  of  antiquity  was  through 
THeinaque  and  Aristonous,  and  I  am  very  glad  that 
such  is  the  case.  It  was  thus  that  I  learnt  the  art  of 
depicting  nature  by  moral  touches.  Up  to  the  year 
1865  I  had  never  formed  any  other  idea  of  the  island 
of  C"hios  except  that  embodied  in  the  phrase  of 
Fenelon :  "  The  island  of  Chios,  happy  as  the  coun- 
try of  Homer."  These  words,  so  full  of  harmony 
and  rhythm, "^^  seemed  to  present  a  perfect  picture  of 
the  place,  and  though  Homer  was  not  born  there — 
nor,  perhaps,  anywhere — they  gave  me  a  better  idea 
of  the  beautiful  (and  now  so  hapless)  isle  of  Greece 
than  I  could  have  derived  from  a  whole  mass  of 
material  description. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  another  book,  which, 
together  with  TcUmaqiic,  I  for  a  long  time  regarded 
as  the  highest  expression  of  literature.  M.  Gosselin 
one  day  called  me  aside,  and  after  much  beating  about 
the  bush,  told  me  that  he  had  thought  of  letting  me 
read  a  book  which  some  people  might  regard  as 
dangerous,  and  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  might  be 
in  certain  cases  on  account  of  the  vivacity  with  which 

*  In  the  French  the  phrase  is,  *' L'ile  de  Chio,  fortunee  partrie 
d'Homere." 


214  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

the  author  expresses  passion.  He  had,  however, 
decided  that  I  might  be  trusted  with  this  book,  which 
was  called  the  Comte  de  Vahnont,  Many  people  will 
no  doubt  wonder  what  could  have  been  the  book 
which  my  worthy  director  thought  could  only  be 
read  after  a  special  preparation  as  regards  judgment 
and  maturity.  Le  Comte  dc  Vahnont,  ou  les  Egarc- 
mcnts  de  la  Raison  is  a  novel  by  Abb^  Gerard,  in 
which,  under  the  cover  of  a  very  innocent  plot,  the 
author  refutes  the  doctrines  of  the  eighteenth  cent- 
ury, and  inculcates  the  principles  of  an  enlightened 
religion.  Sainte-Beuve,  who  knew  the  Comte  de  Val- 
monty  as  he  knew  everything,  was  consumed  with 
laughter  when  I  told  him  this  story.  But  for  all 
that  the  Comte  de  Vahnont  was  a  rather  dangerous 
book.  The  Christianity  set  forth  in  it  is  no  more 
than  Deism,  the  religion  of  Tele?naq7ie,  a  sort  of  feel- 
ing in  the  abstract,  without  being  any  particular  kind 
of  religion.'-^     Thus  everything  tended  to  lull  me  into 

^  I  went  a  short  time  ago  to  the  National  Library  to  refresh  my 
memory  about  the  Comic  de  Valniont.  Having  my  attention  called 
away,  I  asked  M.  Soury  to  look  through  the  book  for  me,  as  I  was 
anxious  to  have  his  impression  of  it.  He  replied  to  me  in  the  follow- 
ing terms : 

"  I  have  been  a  long  time  in  telling  you  what  I  think  of  the  Comte 
de  Valmont.  The  fact  is  that  it  was  only  by  an  heroic  effort  that  I 
managed  to  finish  it.  Not  but  what  this  work  is  honestly  conceived 
and  fairly  well  written.  But  the  effect  of  reading  through  these 
thousands  of  pages  is  so  profoundly  wearisome  that  one  is  scarcely  in 


THE   ISSY  SEMINARY.  21$ 

a  state  o^fancied  security.  I  thought  that  by  copy, 
ing  the  poHteness  of  M.  Gosselin  and  the  moderation 
of  M.  Manier  I  was  a  Christian. 

a  position  to  do  justice  to  the  work  of  Abbe  Gerard.  One  cannot 
help  being  vexed  with  him  for  being  so  unnecessarily  tedious. 

"  As  so  often  happens,  the  best  part  of  this  book  are  the  notes,  that 
is  to  say,  a  mass  of  extracts  and  selections  taken  from  the  famous 
writers  of  the  last  two  centuries,  notably  from  Rousseau.  All  the 
*  proofs '  and  apologetic  arguments  ruin  the  work  unfortunately,  the 
eloquence  and  dialectics  of  Rousseau,  Diderot,  Helvetius,  Holbach, 
and  even  Voltaire,  differing  very  much  from  those  of  Abbe  Ge'rard. 
It  is  the  same  with  the  libertines*  reasons  refuted  by  the  father  of  the 
Comte  de  Valmont.  It  must  be  a  very  dangerous  thing  to  bring  for- 
ward mischievous  doctrines  with  so  much  force.  They  have  a  savor 
which  renders  the  best  things  insipid,  and  it  is  with  these  good  doc- 
trines that  the  six  or  seven  volumes  of  the  Conitede  Valmont  are  filled. 
Abbe  Gerard  did  not  wish  his  work  to  be  called  a  novel,  and  as  a 
matter  of  fact  there  is  neither  drama  nor  action  in  the  interminable 
letters  of  the  Marquis,  the  Count  and  Emilie. 

*'  Comte  de  Valmont  is  one  of  those  sceptics  who  are  often  met  with 
in  the  world.  A  man  of  weak  mind,  pretentious  and  foppish,  incapa- 
ble of  thinking  and  reflecting  for  himself,  ignorant  into  the  bargain, 
and  without  any  kind  of  knowledge  upon  any  subject,  he  meets  his 
hapless  father  with  all  sorts  of  difficulties  against  morality,  religion 
and  Christianity  in  particular,  just  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  an  opinion  on 
matters  the  study  of  which  requires  so  much  enlightenment  and  takes  up 
so  much  time.  The  best  thing  the  poor  fellow  can  do  is  to  reform  his 
ways,  and  he  does  not  fail  to  neglect  doing  this  at  nearly  every  volume. 

'*The  seventh  volume  of  the  edition  which  I  have  before  me  is 
entitled,  La  Throne  du  Bonketcr,  ou  VArt  de  se  rendre  hetireux  mis  a 
la portee  de  tons  les  homnies,  faisant  suite  au  Comte  de  Valmont^  Paris, 
Bossarge,  1801,  eleventh  edition.  This  is  a  different  book,  whatever 
the  publisher  may  say,  and  I  confess  that  this  way  to  be  happy,  brought 
within  the  reach  of  everybody,  did  not  create  a  very  favorable  im- 
pression upon  me." 


2l6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

I  cannot  honestly  say,  moreover,  that  my  faith  in 
Christianity  was  in  reahty  diminished.  My  faith  has 
been  destroyed  by  historical  criticism,  not  by  scholas- 
ticism nor  by  philosophy.  The  history  of  philosophy 
and  the  sort  of  scepticism  by  which  I  had  been  caught 
rather  maintained  me  within  the  limits  of  Christianity 
than  drove  me  beyond  them.  I  often  repeated  to 
myself  the  lines  which  I  had  read  in  Brucher : 

Percurri,  fatcor,  soctas  attenties  omnes, 

Plurima  qucesivi,  per  singula  quaque  cucurri, 

Nee  quidquam  inveni  melius  quam  credere  Christo. 

A  certain  amount  of  modesty  kept  me  back.  The 
capital  question  as  to  the  truth  of  the  Christian 
dogmas  and  of  the  Bible  never  forced  itself  upon  me. 
I  admitted  the  revelation  in  a  general  sense,  like 
Liebnitz  and  Malebranche.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  my  ficre  philosophy  was  the  height  of  hetero- 
doxy, but  I  did  not  stop  to  reason  out  the  conse- 
quences. However,  all  said  and  done,  my  masters 
were  satisfied  with  me.  M.  Penault  rarely  interfered 
with  me.  More  of  a  mystic  than  a  fanatic,  he  con- 
cerned himself  but  little  with  those  who  did  not 
come  immediately  in  his  way.  The  finishing  stroke 
was  given  by  M.  Gottefrey  with  a  degree  of  bold- 
ness and  precision  which  I  did  not  thoroughly  ap- 
preciate until    afterward.     In    the    twinkling  of  an 


-THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  21/ 

eye,  this  truly  gifted  man  tore  away  the  veils  which 
the  prudent  M.  Gosselin  and  the  honest  M.  Manier 
had  adjusted  around  my  conscience  in  order  to  tran- 
quillize, and  to  lull  it  to  sleep. 

M.  Gottefrey  rarely  spoke  to  me,  but  he  followed 
me  with  the  utmost  curiosity.  My  arguments  in 
Latin,  delivered  with  much  firmness  and  emphasis, 
caused  him  surprise  and  uneasiness.  Sometimes,  I 
was  too  much  in  the  right ;  at  others  I  pointed  out 
the  weak  points,  in  the  reasons  given  me,  as  valid. 
Upon  one  occasion,  when  my  objections  had  been 
urged  with  force,  and  when  some  of  the  listeners 
could  not  repress  a  smile  at  the  weakness  of  the 
replies,  he  broke  off  the  discussion.  In  the  evening 
he  called  me  upon  one  side,  and  described  to  me 
with  much  warmth,  how  unchristian  it  was  to  place 
all  faith  in  reasoning,  and  how  injurious  an  effect 
rationalism  had  upon  faith.  He  displayed  a  remark- 
able amount  of  animation,  and  reproached  me  with 
my  fondness  for  study.  What  was  to  be,  gained,  he 
said,  by  further  research.  Everything  that  was  essen- 
tial to  be  known  had  already  been  discovered!!  It  was 
not  by  knowledge  that  men's  souls  were  saved. 
And  gradually  working  himself  up,  he  exclaimed  in 
passionate  accents — "'  You  are  not  a  Christian  ! " 

I  never  felt  such  terror  as  that  which  this  phrase, 
pronounced  in  a  very  resonant  tone,  evoked  within 


2l8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

me.  In  leaving  M.  Gottefrey's  presence  the  words 
"  You  are  not  a  Christian  ''  sounded  all  night  in  my 
ear,  like  a  clap  of  thunder.  The  next  day  I  confided 
my  troubles  to  M.  Gosselin,  who  kindly  reassured 
me,  and  who  could  not  or  would  not  see  anything 
wrong.  He  made  no  effort,  even,  to  conceal  from 
me  how  surprised  and  annoyed  he  was  at  this  ill- 
timed  attempt  upon  a  conscience  for  which  he,  more 
than  any  one  else,  was  responsible.  I  am  sure 
that  he  looked  upon  the  hasty  action  of  M.  Gotte- 
frey  as  a  piece  of  impudence,  the  only  result  of 
which  could  be  to  disturb  a  dawning  vocation.  M. 
Gosselin,  like  many  directors,  was  of  the  opinion 
that  religious  doubts  are  of  no  gravity  among  young 
men  when  they  are  disregarded,  and  that  they  disap- 
pear when  the  future  career  has  been  finally  entered 
upon.  He  enjoined  me  not  to  think  of  what  had 
occurred,  and  I  even  found  him  more  kindly  than 
ever  before.  He  did  not  in  the  least  understand  the 
nature  of  my  mind,  or  in  any  degree  foresee  its  future 
logical  evolutions.  M.  Gottefrey  alone  had  a  clear 
perception  of  things.  He  was  right  a  dozen  times 
over,  as  I  can  now  very  plainly  see.  It  needed  the 
transcendent  lucidity  of  this  martyr  and  ascetic,  to 
discover  that  which  had  so  completely  escaped  those 
who  directed  my  conscience  with  so  much  upright- 
ness and  goodness. 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  2ig 

I  talked  too  with  M.  Manier,  who  strongly  advised 
me  not  to  let  my  faith  in  Christianity  be  affected 
by  objections  of  detail.  With  regard  to  the  ques- 
tion of  entering  holy  orders,  he  was  always  very  re- 
served. He  never  said  anything  which  was  calcu- 
lated either  to  induce  me,  or  dissuade  me.  This  was 
in  his  eyes  more  or  less  of  a  secondary  consideration. 
The  essential  point,  as  he  thought,  was  the  posses- 
sion of  the  true  Christian  spirit,  inseparable  from 
real  philosophy.  In  his  eyes  there  was  no  differ- 
ence between  a  priest,  or  professor  of  Scotch  phi- 
losophy, in  the  University.  He  often  dwelt  upon 
the  honorable  nature  of  such  a  career,  and  more 
than  once  he  spoke  to  me  of  the  Ecole  Normale. 
I  did  not  speak  of  this  overture  to  M.  Gosselin,  for 
assuredly  the  very  idea  of  leaving  the  seminary 
for  the  Ecole  Normale,  would  have  seemed  to  him 
perdition. 

It  was  decided,  therefore,  that  after  my  two  years 
of  philosophy  I  should  pass  into  the  seminary  of 
St.  Sulpice  to  get  through  my  theological  course. 
The  flash  which  shot  through  the  mind  of  M.  Gotte- 
frey  had  no  immediate  consequence.  But  now  at 
an  interval  of  eight  and  thirty  years,  I  can  see  how 
clear  a  perception  of  the  reality  he  had.  He  alone 
possessed  foresight,  and  I  much  regret  now  that  I 
did  not  follow  his  impulse.     I  should  have  quitted 


220  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

the  seminary  without  having  studied  Hebrew  or 
theology.  Physiology  and  the  natural  sciences  would 
have  absorbed  me,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  express 
my  belief — so  great  was  the  ardor  which  these 
vital  sciences  excited  in  me — that  if  I  had  cultivated 
them  continuously  I  should  have  arrived  at  several 
of  the  results  achieved  by  Darwin,  and  partially  fore- 
seen by  myself.  Instead  of  that  I  went  to  St. 
Sulpice  and  learnt  German  and  Hebrew,  the  conse- 
quence being  that  the  whole  course  of  my  life  was 
different.  I  was  led  to  the  study  of  the  historical 
sciences — conjectural  in  their  nature — which  are  no 
sooner  made  than  they  are  unmade,  and  which  will 
be  put  upon  one  side  in  a  hundred  years*  time.  For 
the  day  is  not,  we  may  be  sure,  very  far  distant  when 
man  will  cease  to  attach  much  interest  to  his  past.  I 
am  very  much  afraid  that  our  minute  contributions  to 
the  Academic  des  Inscriptions  et  Belles-Lettres 
which  are  intended  to  assist  to  an  accurate  compre- 
hension of  history,  will  crumble  to  dust  before  they 
have  been  read.  It  is  by  chemistry  at  one  end  and 
by  astronomy  at  the  other,  and  especially  by  general 
physiology,  that  we  really  grasp  the  secret  of  exis- 
tence of  the  world  or  of  God,  whichever  it  may  be 
called.  The  one  thing  which  I  regret  is  having 
selected  for  my  study  researches  of  a  nature  which  will 
never  force  themselves  upon  the  world,  or  be  more 


THE  ISSY  SEMINARY.  221 

than  interesting  dissertations  upon  a  reality  which 
has  vanished  for  ever.  But  as  regards  the  exercise, 
and  pleasure  of  thought  is  concerned,  I  certainly 
chose  the  better  part,  for  at  St.  Sulpice  I  was  brought 
face  to  face  with  the  Bible,  and  the  sources  of 
Christianity,  and  in  the  following  chapter  I  will 
endeavor  to  describe  how  eagerly  I  immersed  my- 
self in  this  study,  and  how  through  a  series  of  critical 
deductions  which  forced  themselves  upon  my  mind, 
the  bases  of  my  existence,  as  I  had  hitherto  under- 
stood it,  were  completely  overturned. 


THE  ST.  SULPICE  SEMINARY. 

PART   I.  • 

The  house  built  by  M.  Olier  in  1645  was  not  the 
large  quadrangular  barrack-like  building  which  now 
occupies  one  side  of  the  square  of  St.  Sulpice.  The 
old  seminary  of  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth 
century  covered  the  whole  area  of  what  is  now  the 
square,  and  quite  concealed  Servandoni's  fagade. 
The  site  of  the  present  seminary  was  formerly  oc- 
cupied by  the  gardens  and  by  the  college  of  bursars 
nicknamed  the  Robertins.  The  original  building 
disappeared  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution.  The 
chapel,  the  ceiling  of  which  was  regarded  as  Lebrun's 
masterpiece,  has  been  destroyed,  and  all  that  re- 
mains of  the  old  house  is  a  picture  by  Lebrun 
representing  the  Pentecost  in  a  style  which  would 
excite  the  wonder  of  the  author  of  the  Acts  of  the 
Apostles.  The  Virgin  is  the  centre  figure,  and  is 
receiving  the  whole  of  the  pouring  out  of  the  Holy 
Ghost,  which  from  her  spreads  to  the  apostles. 
Saved   at   the    Revolution,    and    afterward    in   the 

gallery  of  Cardinal  Tesch,  this  picture  was  bought 

222 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY,  223 

back  by  the  corporation  of  St.  Sulpice,  and  is  now 
in  the  seminary  chapel.  ^ 

With  the  exception  of  the  walls  and  the  furniture, 
all  is  old  at  St.  Sulpice,  and  it  is  easy  to  believe  that 
one  is  living  in  the  seventeenth  century.  Time  and 
its  ravages  have  effaced  many  differences.  St.  Sul- 
pice now  embodies  in  itself  many  things  which  were 
once  far  removed  from  one  another,  and  those  who 
wish  to  get  the  best  icfea  attainable  in  the  present 
day,  of  what  Port-Royal,  the  original  Sorbonne  and 
the  institutions  of  the  ancient  French  clergy  gener- 
ally were  like,  must  enter  its  portals.  When  I 
joined  the  St.  Sulpice  seminary  in  1843,  there  were 
still  a  few  directors  who  had  seen  M.  Emery,  but 
there  were  only  two,  if  I  remember  right,  whose 
memories  carried  them  back  to  a  date  earher  than 
the  Revolution.  M.  Hugon  had  acted  as  acolyte  at 
the  consecration  of  M.  de  Talleyrand  in  the  chapel 
of  Issy  in  1788.  It  seems  that  the  attitude  of  the 
Abbe  de  Perigord  during  the  ceremony  was  very  in- 
decorous. M.  Hugon  related  that  he  accused  himself, 
when  at  confession  the  following  Saturday,  "  of  hav- 
ing formed  hasty  judgments  as  to  the  piety  of  a 
holy  bishop."  The  superior-general,  M.  Garnier, 
was  more  than  eighty,  and  he  was  in  every  respect 
an  ecclesiastic  of  the  old  school.  He  had  gone 
through  his  studies  at   the   Robertins  College  and 


224  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY-  YOUTH. 

afterward  at  the  Sorbonne,  from  which  he  gave  one 
the  idea  of  just  emerging,  and  when  one  heard  him 
talk  of  ^^  Monsieur  Bossuet*'  and  *' Monsieur  Fene- 
lon," '''  it  seemed  as  if  one  was  face  to  face  with  an 
actual  pupil  of  those  great  men.  There  is  nothing  in 
common  except  the  name  and  the  dress  between  these 
ecclesiastics  that  of  the  old  regime  and  those  of  the 
present  day.  Compared  to  the  young  and  exuberant 
members  of  the  I^sy  school,  M.  Garnier  had  the 
appearance  almost  of  a  layman,  with  a  complete 
absence  of  all  external  demonstrations  and  his  staid 
and  reasonable  piety.  In  the  evening,  some  of  the 
younger  students  went  to  keep  him  company  in  his 
room  for  an  hour.  The  conversation  never  took  a 
mystical  turn.  M.  Garnier  narrated  his  recollections, 
spoke  of  M.  Emery,  and  foreshadowed  with  melan- 
choly his  approaching  end.  The  contrast  between 
his  quietude  and  the  ardor  of  Penault  and  M. 
Gottefrey  was  very  striking.  These  aged  priests 
were  so  honest,  sensible  and  upright,  observing  their 

*  I  should  like  to  make  one  observation  in  this  connection.  People 
of  the  present  day  have  got  into  the  habit  of  putting  Moiiseigneur 
before  a  proper  name,  and  of  saying  Monseigneur  Dtipatiloup  or 
Monseigneur  Affre. ,  This  is  bad  French  ;  the  word  "  Monseigneur  " 
should  only  be  used  in  the  vocative  case  or  before  an  official  title.  In 
speaking  to  M.  Dupanloup  or  M.  Affre,  it  w^ould  be  correct  to  say 
Monseigneur.  In  speaking  of  them,  Monsieur  Dupauloup,  Monsieur 
Affre ;  Monsieur  or  Monseigneur  Vevcque  d' Orleans ^  Monsieur  or 
Monseigneur  TArcheveque  de  Paris. 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  22$ 

rules,  and  defending  their  dogmas,  just  as  a  faithful 
soldier  holds  the  post  which  has  been  committed  to 
his  keeping.  The  higher  questions  were  altogether 
beyond  them.  The  love  of  order  and  devotion  to 
duty  were  the  guiding  principles  of  their  lives.  M. 
Garnier  was  a  learned  Orientalist,  and  better  versed 
than  any  living  Frenchman  in  the  Biblical  exegesis 
as  taught  by  the  Catholics  a  century  ago.  The 
modesty  which  characterized  St.  Sulpice  deterred 
him  from  publishing  any  of  his  works,  and  the  out- 
come of  his  studies  was  an  immense  manuscript 
representing  a  complete  course  of  Holy  Writ,  in 
accordance  with  the  relatively  moderate  views  which 
prevailed  among  the  Catholics  and  Protestants  at 
the  close  of  the  eighteenth  century.  It  was  very 
analogous  in  spirit  to  that  of  Rosenmuller,  Hug 
and  John.  When  I  joined  St.  Sulpice,  M.  Garnier 
was  too  old  to  teach,  and  our  professors  used  to  read 
us  extracts  from  his  copy-books.  They  were  full  of 
erudition,  and  testified  to  a  very  thorough  knowl- 
edge of  language.  Now  and  then  we  came  upon 
some  artless  observation  which  made  us  smile — such, 
for  instance,  as  the  way  in  which  he  got  over  the 
difficulties  relating  to  Sarah's  adventure  in  Egypt. 
Sarah,  as  we  know,  was  close  upon  seventy  when 
Pharaoh  conceived  so  great  a  passion  for  her,  and 
M.  Garnier  got  over  this  by  observing  that  this  was 

lO* 


226  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

not  the  only  instance  of  the  kind,  and  that  "  Made- 
moiselle de  Lenclos  "  was  the  cause  of  duels  being 
fought  when  over  seventy.  M.  Garnier  had  not 
made  himself  acquainted  with  the  latest  labors  of 
the  new  German  school,  and  he  remained  in  happy 
ignorance  of  the  inroads  which  the  criticism  of  the 
nineteenth  century  had  made  upon  the  ancient  sys- 
tem. His  best  title  to  fame  is  that  he  moulded  in 
M.  Le  Hir,  a  pupil  who,  inheriting  his  own  vast 
knowledge,  added  to  it  familiarity  with  modern  dis- 
coveries, and  who,  with  a  sincerity  which  proved  the 
depth  of  his  faith,  did  not  in  the  least  conceal  the 
depth  to  which  the  knife  had  gone. 

Overborne  by  the  weight  of  years,  and  absorbed 
by  the  cares  which  the  general  direction  of  the  com- 
pany entailed,  M.  Garnier  left  the  entire  superin- 
tendence of  the  Paris  house  to  M.  Carbon,  the 
director.  M.  Carbon  was  the  embodiment  of  kind- 
ness, joviality  and  straightforwardness.  He  was  no 
theologian,  and  was  so  far  from  being  a  man  of 
superior  mind,  that  at  first  one  would  be  tempted  to 
look  upon  him  as  a  very  simple,  not  to  say  common, 
person.  But  as  one  came  to  know  him  better,  one 
was  surprised  to  discover  beneath  this  humble  ex- 
terior, one  of  the  rarest  things  in  the  world,  viz., 
unalloyed  cordiality,  motherly  condescension,  and  a 
charming  openness  of  manner.     I  have  never  met 


THE   ST.  SULPICE    SEMINARY.  22/- 

with  any  one  so  entirely  free  from  personal  vanity. 
He  was  the  first  to  laugh  at  himself,  at  his  half  in- 
tentional blunders,  and  at  the  laughable  situations 
into  which  his  artlessness  would  often  land  him. 
Like  all  the  older  directors,  he  had  to  say  the  orison 
in  his  turn.  He  did  not  ever  give  it  five  minutes 
previous  consideration,  and  he  sometimes  got  into 
such  a  comical  state  of  confusion  with  his  improvised 
address,  that  we  had  to  bite  our  tongues  to  keep 
from  laughing.  He  saw  how  amused  we  were,  and 
it  struck  him  as  being  perfectly  natural.  It  was  he 
who,  during  the  course  of  Holy  Writ,  had  to  read 
M.  Garnier*s  manuscript.  He  used  to  flounder  about 
purposely,  in  order  to  make  us  laugh,  in  the  parts 
which  had  fallen  out  of  date.  The  most  singular 
thing  was  that  he  was  not  very  mystic.  I  asked  one 
of  my  fellow  students  what  he  thought  was  M.  Car- 
bon's motive-idea  in  life,  and  his  reply  was,  '*  the 
abstract  of  duty."  M.  Carbon  took  a  fancy  to  me 
from  the  first,  and  he  saw  that  the  fundamental 
feature  in  my  disposition  was  cheerfulness,  and  a 
ready  acquiescence  in  my  lot.  ''  I  see  that  we  shall 
get  on  very  well  together,"  he  said  to  me  with  a 
pleasant  smile  ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact  M.  Carbon 
is  one  of  those  for  whom  I  have  felt  the  deepest 
affection.  Seeing  that  I  was  studious,  full  of  appli- 
cation, and  conscientious  in  my  work,  he  said  to  me 


228  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

after  a  very  short  time — ''  You  should  be  thinking 
of  your  society,  that  is  your  proper  place."  He 
treated  me  almost  as  a  colleague,  so  complete  was 
his  confidence  in  me. 

The  other  directors,  who  had  to  teach  the  various 
branches  of  theology,  were  without  exception  the 
worthy  continuators  of  a  respectable  tradition.  But 
as  regards  doctrine  itself,  the  breach  was  made. 
Ultramontanism  and  the  love  of  the  irrational  had 
forced  their  way  into  the  citadel  of  modern  theol- 
ogy. The  old  school  knew  how  to  rave  soberly, 
and  followed  the  rules  of  common  sense  even  in 
the  absurd.  This  school  only  admitted  the  irra- 
tional and  the  miraculous  up  to  the  limit  strictly 
required  by  Holy  Writ  and  the  authority  of  the 
Church.  The  new  school  revels  in  the  miraculous, 
and  seems  to  take  its  pleasure  in  narrowing  the 
ground  upon  which  apologetics  can  be  defended. 
Upon  the  other  hand,  it  would  be  unfair  not  to 
say  that  the  new  school  is  in  some  respects  more 
open  and  consistent,  and  that  it  has  derived,  espe- 
cially through  its  relations  with  Germany,  elements 
for  discussion  which  have  no  place  in  the  ancient 
treatises  de  Locis  Theologicis,  St.  Sulpice  has  had 
but  one  representative  in  this  path  so  thickly  sown 
with  unexpected  incidents  and — it  may  perhaps  be* 
added — with  dangers ;  but  he  is  unquestionably  the 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  22C) 

most  remarkable  member  of  the  French  clergy  in  the 
present  day.  I  am  speaking  of  M.  Le  Hir,  whom  I 
knew  very  intimately,  as  will  presently  be  seen.  In 
order  to  understand  what  follows,  the  reader  must 
be  very  deeply  versed  in  the  workings  of  the  human 
mind,  and  above  all  in  matters  of  faith. 

M.  Le  Hir  was  in  an  equally  eminent  degree  a 
savant  and  a  saint.  This  co-habitation  in  the  same 
person  of  two  entities  which  are  rarely  found  to- 
gether, took  place  in  him  without  any  kind  of  frac- 
tion, for  the  saintly  side  of  his  character  had  the 
absolute  mastery.  There  was  not  one  of  the  ob- 
jections of  rationalism  which  escaped  his  attention. 
He  did  not  make  the  slightest  concession  to  any  of 
them,  for  he  never  felt  the  shadow  of  a  doubt  as  to 
the  truth  of  orthodoxy.  This  was  due  rather  to 
an  act  of  the  supreme  will  than  to  a  result  imposed 
upon  him.  Holding  entirely  aloof  from  natural 
philosophy  and  the  scientific  spirit,  the  first  con- 
dition of  which  is  to  have  no  prior  faith  and  to 
reject  that  which  does  not  come  spontaneously,  he 
remained  in  a  state- of  equilibrium  which  would  have 
been  fatal  to  convictions  less  urgent  than  his.  The 
supernatural  did  not  excite  any  natural  repugnance 
in  him.  His  scales  were  very  nicely  adjusted,  but 
in  one  of  them  was  a  weight  of  unknown  quantity — 
an    unshaken    faith.      Whatever  might   have    been 


230  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

placed  in  the  other,  would  have  seemed  light ;  all 
the  objections  in  the  world  would  not  have  moved 
it  a  hair's  breadth. 

M.  Le  Hir's  superiority  was  in  a  great  measure 
due  to  his  profound  knowledge  of  the  German  exe- 
geses. Whatever  he  found  in  them  compatible  with 
Catholic  orthodoxy,  he  appropriated.  In  matters 
of  critique,  incompatibilities  were  continually  occur- 
ring, but  in  grammar,  upon  the  other  hand,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  finding  common  ground.  There 
was  no  one  like  M.  Le  Hir  in  this  respect.  He  had 
thoroughly  mastered  the  doctrine  of  Gesenius  and 
Ewald,  and  criticised  many  points  in  it  with  great 
learning.  He  interested  himself  in  the  Phoenician 
inscriptions,  and  propounded  a  very  ingenious  theory 
which  has  since  been  confirmed.  His  theology  was 
borrowed  almost  entirely  from  the  German  Catholic 
School,  which  was  at  once  more  advanced,  and  less 
reasonable,  than  our  ancient  French  scholasticism. 
M.  Le  Hir  reminds  one  in  many  respects  of  Bol- 
linger, especially  in  regard  to  his  learning  and  his 
general  scope  of  view ;  but  his  docility  would  have 
preserved  him  from  the  dangers  m  which  the  Vati- 
can Council  involved  most  of  the  learned  members 
of  the  clergy.  He  died  prematurely  in  1870  upon 
the  eve  of  the  Council,  which  he  was  just  about  to 
attend  as  a  theologian.     I  was  intending  to  ask  my 


THE    ST.  SULPICE    SEMINARY.  23 1 

colleagues  in  the  Academie  des  Inscriptions  et 
Belles  Lettres  to  make  him  an  unattached  member 
of  our  body.  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  would  have 
rendered  considerable  service  to  the  Committee  of 
Semitic  Inscriptions. 

M.  Le  Hir  possessed,  in  addition  to  his  immense 
learning,  the  talent  of  writing  with  much  force  and 
accuracy.  He  might  have  been  very  witty  if  he  had 
been  so  minded.  His  undeviating  mysticism  re- 
sembled that  of  M.  Gottefrey  ;  but  he  had  much 
more  rectitude  of  judgment.  His  aspect  was  very 
singular,  for  he  was  like  a  child  in  figure,  and  very 
weakly  in  appearance,  but  with  that,  eyes  and  a  fore- 
head indicating  the  highest  intelligence.  In  short, 
the  only  faculty  lacking,  was  one  which  would  have 
caused  him  to  abjure  Catholicism,  viz.,  the  critical 
one.  Or  I  should  rather  say  that  he  had  the  critical 
faculty  very  highly  developed  in  every  point  not 
touching  religious  belief  ;  but  that  possessed  in  his 
view  such  a  coefficient  of  certainty  that  nothing 
could  counterbalance  it.  His  piety  was  in  truth, 
like  the  mother-o '-pearl  shells  of  Francois  de  Sales, 
^'  which  live  in  the  sea  without  tasting  a  drop  of  salt 
water."  The  knowledge  of  error  which  he  possessed 
was  entirely  speculative  :  a  water-tight  compartment 
prevented  the  least  infiltration  of  modern  ideas  into 
the  secret  sanctuary  of  his  heart,  within  which  burnt. 


232  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

by  the  side  of  the  petroleum,  the  small  unquench- 
able light  of  a  tender  and  sovereign  piety.  As  my 
mind  was  not  provided  with  these  water-tight  com- 
partments, the  encounter  of  these  conflicting  ele- 
ments, which  in  M.  Le  Hir  produced  profound 
inward  peace,  led  in  my  case  to  strange  explosions. 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY. 

PART  II. 

St.  Sulpice,  in  short,  when  I  went  through  it 
forty  years  ago,  provided,  despite  its  shortcomings, 
a  fairly  high  education.  My  ardor  for  study  had 
plenty  to  feed  upon.  Two  unknown  worlds  un- 
folded themselves  before  me  :  theology,  the  rational 
exposition  of  the  Christian  dogma,  and  the  Bible, 
supposed  to  be  the  depository  and  the  source  of 
this  dogma.  I  plunged  deeply  into  work.  I  was 
even  more  solitary  than  at  Issy,  for  I  did  not  know 
a  soul  in  Paris.  For  two  years  I  never  went  into 
any  street  except  the  Rue  de  Vaugirard,  through 
which  once  a  week  we  walked  to  Issy.  I  very 
rarely  indulged  in  any  conversation.  The  profes- 
sors were  alv/ays  very  kind  to  me.  My  gentle 
disposition  and  studious  habits,  my  silence  and  mod- 
esty, gained  me  their  favor,  and  I  believe  that  sev- 
eral of  them  remarked  to  one  another,  as  M.  Carbon 
had  to  me,  "  He  will  make  an  excellent  colleague 
for  us.'* 

Upon  the  29th  of  March,  1844,  I  wrote  to  one  of 

233 


234  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH, 

my  friends  in  Brittany,  who  was  then  at  the  St. 
Briene  Seminary : 

"  I  very  much  hke  being  here.  The  tone  of  the 
place  is  excellent,  being  equally  free  from  rusticity, 
coarse  egotism  and  affectation.  There  is  little  inti- 
macy or  geniality,  but  the  conversation  is  dignified 
and  elevated,  with  scarcely  a  trace  of  common-place 
or  gossip.  It  would  be  idle  to  look  for  anything  like 
cordiality  between  the  directors  and  the  students,  for 
this  is  a  plant  which  grows  only  in  Brittany.  But  the 
directors  have  a  certain  fund  of  tolerance  and  kind- 
ness in  their  composition  which  harmonizes  very  well 
with  the  moral  condition  of  the  young  men  upon 
their  joining  the  seminary.  Their  control  is  exer- 
cised almost  imperceptibly,  for  the  seminary  seems 
to  conduct  itself,  instead  of  being  conducted  by  them. 
The  regulations,  the  usages,  and  the  spirit  of  the 
place  are  the  sole  agents  ;  the  directors  are  mere 
passive  overseers.  St.  Sulpice  is  a  machine  which 
has  been  well  constructed  for  the  last  two  hundred 
years  ;  it  goes  of  itself,  and  all  that  the  driver  has 
to  do  is  to  watch  the  movements,  and  from  time  to 
time  to  screw  up  a  nut  and  oil  the  joints.  It  is  not 
like  Saint  Nicholas,  for  instance,  where  the  machine 
was  never  allowed  to  go  by  itself.  The  driver  was 
always  tinkering  at  it,  running  first  to  the  right  and 
then  to  the  left,  peering  in  here  and  altering  a  wheel 


THE    ST,  SULPICE    SEMINARY,  235 

there,  not  knowing  or  remembering  that  the  best 
mounted  machine  is  the  one  that  requires  the  least 
attention  from  the  man  who  sets  it  in  motion.  The 
great  advantage  which  I  enjoy  here  is  the  remarkable 
faciUty  afforded  me  for  work,  which  has  become  a 
prime  necessity  to  me,  and  which,  considering  my 
internal  condition,  is  also  a  duty.  The  lectures  on 
morals  are  excellent,  but  I  cannot  say  as  much  of 
those  on  dogma,  as  the  professor  is  a  novice.  This, 
coupled  with  the  great  importance  of  the  Traites  de 
la  Religion  et  de  VEglise,  especially  in  my  case, 
would  be  a  very  serious  drawback,  but  for  my  having 
found  substitutes  for  him  among  the  other  professors." 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had  a  special  liking  for  the 
ecclesiastical  sciences.  A  text  once  implanted  in  my 
memory  was  never  forgotten ;  my  head  was  in  the 
state  of  a  Sic  et  Non  of  Abelard.  Theology  is  like 
a  Gothic  cathedral,  having  in  common  with  its 
grandeur  its  vast  empty  spaces  and  its  lack  of 
solidity.  Neither  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Church  nor 
to  the  Christian  writers  during  the  first  half  of  the 
Middle  Ages  did  it  occur  to  draw  up  a  systematic 
exposition  of  the  Christian  dogmas  which  would 
dispense  with  reading  the  Bible  all  through.  The 
Summa  of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  a  summary  of  the 
earlier  scholasticism,  is  like  a  vast  bookcase  with 
compartments,  which,  if  Catholicism  is  to  endure,  will 


236  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

be  of  service  to  all  time,  the  decisions  of  councils  and 
of  Popes  in  the  future  having,  so  to  speak,  their 
place  marked  out  for  them  beforehand.  There  can 
be  no  question  of  progress  in  such  an  order  of  expo- 
sition. In  the  sixteenth  century,  the  Council  of 
Trent  settled  a  number  of  points  which  had  hitherto 
been  the  subject  of  controversy ;  but  each  of  these 
anathemas  had  already  its  place  allotted  to  it  in 
the  wide  purview  of  St.  Thomas  Melchior  Canns, 
and  Suar^s  remodeled  the  Stimma  without  adding 
anything  essential  to  it.  In  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries  the  Sorbonne  composed  for 
use  in  the  schools  handy  treatises  which  are  for  the 
most  parj:  revised  and  reduced  copies  of  the  Sujnma. 
At  each  page  one  can  detect  the  same  texts  cut  out 
and  separated  from  the  comments  which  explain 
them,  the  same  triumphant  syllogisms,  but  devoid 
of  any  solid  foundation,  the  same  defects  of  histor- 
ical criticism,  arising  from  the  confusion  of  dates  and 
places. 

Theology  may  be  divided  into  dogmatics  and 
ethics.  Dogmatic  theology,  in  addition  to  the  Pro- 
legomena comprising  the  discussions  relating  to  the 
sources  of  divine  authority,  is  divided  into  fifteen 
treatises  upon  all  the  dogmas  of  Christianity.  At  the 
basis  is  the  treatise  De  la  Vraie  Religion,  which  seeks 
to   demonstrate  the  supernatural   character  of   the 


THE   ST.   SULPICE    SEMINARY.  237 

Christian  religion,  that  is  to  say,  of  Revealed  Writ  and 
of  the  Church.  Then  all  the  dogmas  are  proved  by 
Holy  Writ,  by  the  Councils,  by  the  Fathers,  and  by 
the  theologians.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  there  is  a 
very  frank  rationalism  at  the  root  of  all  this.  If 
scholasticism  is  the  descendant  in  the  first  generation 
of  St.  Thomas  Aquinas,  it  is  descended  in  the  second 
from  Ab^lard.  In  such  a  system  reason  holds  the 
first  place,  reason  proves  the  revelation,  the  divinity 
of  Scripture  and  the  authority  of  the  Church.  This 
done,  the  door  is  open  to  every  kind  of  deduction. 
The  only  instance  in  which  St.  Sulpice  has  been 
moved  to  anger  since  the  extinction  of  Jansenism 
was  when  M.  de  Lamennais  declared  that  the  start- 
ing-point should  be  faith  and  not  reason.  And  what 
is  to  be  the  test  in  the  last  resort  of  the  claims  of 
faith  if  not  reason  ! 

Moral  theology  consists  of  a  dozen  treatises  com- 
prising the  w^hole  body  of  philosophical  ethics  and 
of  law,  completed  by  the  revelation  and  decisions  of 
the  Church.  All  this  forms  a  sort  of  encyclopedia 
very  closely  connected.  It  is  an  edifice,  the  stones 
of  which  are  attached  to  one  another  by  iron  clamps, 
but  the  base  is  extremely  weak.  This  base  is  the 
treatise  De  la  Vraie  Religion^  which  treatise  does 
not  hold  together.  For  not  only  does  it  fail  to  show 
that  the  Christian  religion  is  more  especially  divine 


238  RECOLLECTIONS  OE  MY    YOUTH. 

and  revealed  than  the  others,  but  it  does  not  even 
prove  that  in  the  field  of  reality  which  comes  within 
the  reach  of  our  observation  there  has  occurred  a 
single  supernatural  fact  or  miracle.  M.  Littre's  in- 
exorable phrase,  ^^  Despite  of  all  the  researches 
which  have  been  made,  no  miracle  has  ever  taken 
place  where  it  could  be  observed  and  put  upon 
record  "  is  a  stumbling-block  which  cannot  be  moved 
out  of  the  path.  It  is  impossible  to  prove  that  a 
miracle  occurred  in  the  past,  and  we  shall  doubtless 
have  a  long  time  to  wait  before  one  takes  place 
under  such  conditions  as  could  alone  give  a  right- 
minded  person  the  assurance  that  he  was  not 
mistaken. 

Admitting  the  fundamental  thesis  of  the  treatise 
De  la  Vraie  Religion^  the  field  of  argument  is 
narrower-,  but  the  argument  is  a  long  way  from  being 
at  an  end.  The  question  has  to  be  discussed  with 
the  Protestants  and  dissenters,  who,  while  admitting 
the  revealed  texts  to  be  true,  decline  to  see  in  them 
the  dogmas  which  the  Catholic  Church  has  in  the 
course  of  time  taken  upon  herself.  The  controversy 
here  branches  off  into  endless  points,  and  the  advo- 
cates of  Catholicism  are  continually  being  worsted. 
The  Catholic  Church  has  taken  upon  herself  to  prove 
that  her  dogmas  have  always  existed  just  as  she 
teaches  them,  that  Jesus  instituted  confession,  ex- 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  239 

treme  unction  and  marriage,  and  that  he  taught 
what  was  afterward  decided  upon  by  the  Nicene 
and  Trent  Councils.  Nothing  can  be  more  errone- 
ous. The  Christian  dogma  has  been  formed,  Hke 
everything  else,  slowly  and  piecemeal,  by  a  sort  of 
inward  vegetation.  Theology,  by  asserting  the  con- 
trary, raises  up  a  mass  of  objections,  and  places  itself 
in  the  predicament  of  having  to  reject  all  criticism. 
I  would  advise  any  one  who  wishes  to  realize  this  to 
read  in  a  theological  work  the  treatise  on  Sacra- 
ments, and  he  will  see  by  what  a  series  of  unsup- 
ported suppositions,  w^orthy  of  the  Apocrypha,  of 
Marie  d'Agreda  or  Catherine  Emmerich,  the  con- 
clusion is  reached  that  all  the  sacraments  were  estab- 
lished by  Jesus  Christ  during  his  life.  The  discussion 
as  to  the  matter  and  form  of  the  sacraments  is  o*pen 
to  the  same  objections.  The  obstinacy  with  which 
matter  and  form  are  detected  everywhere  dates  from 
the  introduction  of  the  Aristotelian  tenets  into 
theology  in  the  thirteenth  century.  Those  who 
rejected  this  retrospective  application  of  the  philos- 
ophy of  Aristotle  to  the  liturgical  creations  of  Jesus 
incurred  ecclesiastical  censure. 

The  intention  of  the  ^^  about  to  be  "  in  history  as 
in  nature  became  henceforth  the  essence  of  my 
philosophy.  My  doubts  did  not  arise  from  one  train 
of  reason  but  from  ten  thousand.    Orthodoxy  has  an 


240  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

answer  to  everything  and  will  never  avow  itself 
worsted.  No  doubt,  it  is  admitted  in  criticism  itself 
that  a  subtle  answer  may,  in  certain  cases,  be  a  valid 
one.  The  real  truth  does  not  always  look  like  the 
truth.  One  subtle  answer  may  be  true,  or  even  at  a 
stretch,  two.  But  for  three  to  be  true  is  more  diffi- 
cult, and  as  to  four  bearing  examination  that  is 
almost  impossible.  But  if  a  thesis  can  only  be  up- 
held by  admitting  that  ten,  a  hundred,  or  even  a 
thousand  subtle  answers  are  true  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  a  clear  proof  is  afforded  that  this  thesis  is 
false.  The  calculation  of  probabilities  applied  to  all 
these  shortcomings  of  detail  is  overwhelming  in  its 
effect  upon  unprejudiced  minds,  and  Descartes  had 
taught  me  that  the  prime  condition  for  discovering 
the* truth  is  to  be  free  from  all  prejudice. 


THE  ST.  SULPICE  SEMINARY. 

PART    III. 

The  theological  struggle  defined  itself  more  par- 
ticularly in  my  case  upon  the  ground  of  the  so-called 
revealed  texts.  Catholic  tuition,  with  full  confidence 
as  to  the  issue,  accepted  battle  upon  this  ground  as 
upon  others  with  the  most  complete  good  faith. 
The  Hebrew  tongue  was  in  this  case  the  main  in- 
strument, for  one  of  the  two  Christian  Bibles  is  in 
Hebrew,  while  even  as  regards  the  New  Testament 
there  can  be  no  proper  exegesis  without  Hebrew. 

The  study  of  Hebrew  was  not  compulsory  in  the 
seminary,  and  it  was  not  followed  by  many  of  the 
students.  In  1843-44,  M.  Gamier  still  lectured  in 
his  room  upon  the  difficult  texts  to  two  or  three 
students.  M.  Le  Hir  had  for  several  years  taken 
the  lectures  on  grammar.  I  joined  the  course  at 
once,  and  the  well-defined  philology  of  M.  Le  Hir 
was  full  of  charm  for  me.  He  was  very  kind  to  me, 
and  being  a  Breton  like  myself,  there  was  much 
similarity  of  disposition  between  us.  At  the  ex- 
piration of  a  few  weeks,  I  was  almost  his  only  pupil. 
II  241 


242  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

His  way  of  expounding  the  Hebrew  grammar,  with 
comparison  of  other  Semitic  idioms,  was  most  ex- 
cellent. I  possessed  at  this  period  a  marvelous 
power  of  assimilation.  I  absorbed  everything  which 
he  told  me.  His  books  were  at  my  disposal  and  he 
had  a  very  extensive  library.  Upon  the  days  when 
we  walked  to  Issy  he  went  with  me  to  the  heights 
of  La  Solitude,  and  there  he  taught  me  Syriac.  We 
talked  together  over  the  Syriac  New  Testament  of 
Guthier.  M.  Le  Hir  determined  my  career.  I  was 
by  instinct  a  philologist,  and  I  found  in  him  the 
man  best  fitted  to  develop  this  aptitude.  Whatever 
claim  to  the  title  of  savant  I  may^possess  I  owe  to 
M.  Le  Hir."  I  often  think,  even,  that  whatever  I 
have  not  learnt  from  him  has  been  imperfectly  ac- 
quired. Thus  he  did  not  know  much  of  Arabic,  and 
this  is  why  I  have  always  been  a  poor  Arabic 
scholar. 

A  circumstance  due  to  the  kindness  of  my  teachers 
confirmed  me  in  my  calHng  of  a  philologist  and,  un- 
known to  them,  unclosed  for  me  a  door  which  I  had 
not  dared  open  for  myself.  In  1844,  M.  Garnier  was 
compelled  by  old  age  to  give  up  his  lectures  on 
Hebrew.  M.  Le  Hir  succeeded  him,  and  knowing 
how  thoroughly  I  had  assimilated  his  doctrine  he 
determined  to  let  me  take  the  grammar  course. 
This  pleasant   information  was  conveyed  to  me  by 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  243 

M.  Carbon  with  his  usual  good  nature,  and  he  added 
that  the  company  would  give  me  three  hundred 
francs  by  way  of  salary.  The  sum  seemed  to  me 
such  an  enormous  one  that  I  told  M.  Carbon  I  could 
not  accept  it.  He  insisted,  however,  on  my  taking 
a  hundred  and  fifty  francs  for  the  purchase  of  books. 
A  much  higher  favor  was  that  by  which  I  was 
allowed  to  attend  M.  Etienne  Quatr^mere's  lectures 
at  the  College  de  France  twice  a  week.  M.  Quatre- 
mere  did  not  bestow  much  preparatory  labor  upon 
his  lectures ;  in  the  matter  of  Biblical  exegesis  he 
had  voluntarily  kept  apart  from  the  scientific  move- 
ment. He  much  more  nearly  resembled  M.  Garnier 
than  M.  Le  Hir.  Just  another  such  a  Jansenist  as 
Silvestre  de  Sacy,  he  shared  the  demi-rationalism  of 
Hug  and  John-^minimizing  the  proportion  of  the 
supernatural  as  far  as  possible,  especially  in  the 
cases  of  what  he  called  ^^  miracles  difficult  to  carry 
out,'*  such  as  the  miracle  of  Joshua,  but  still  retain- 
ing the  principle,  at  all  events  in  respect  to  the 
miracles  of  the  New  Testament.  This  superficial 
eclecticism  did  not  much  take  my  fancy.  M.  Le 
Hir  was  much  nearer  the  truth  in  not  attempting  to 
attenuate  the  matter  recounted,  and  in  closely  study- 
ing, after  the  manner  of  Ewald,  the  recital  itself. 
As  a  comparative  grammarian,  M.  Quatremere  was 
also  very  inferior  to  M.  Le  Hir.     But  his  erudition 


244  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

in  regard  to  orientalism  was  enormous.  A  new  world 
opened  before  me,  and  I  saw  that  what  apparently 
could  only  be  of  interest  to  priests  might  be  of  in- 
terest to  laymen  as  well.  The  idea  often  occurred 
to  me  from  that  time  that  I  should  one  day  teach 
from  the  same  table,  in  the  small  class-room  to  which 
I  have  as  a  matter  of  fact  succeeded  in  forcing  my 
way. 

This  obligation  to  classify  and  systematize  my 
ideas  in  view  of  lessons  to  be  given  to  fellow-pupils 
of  the  same  age  as  myself  decided  my  vocation. 
My  scheme  of  teaching  was  from  that  moment  de- 
termined upon  ;  and  whatever  I  have  since  accom- 
plished in  the  way  of  philology  has  its  origin  in  the 
humble  lecture  which  through  the  kindness  of  my 
masters  was  intrusted  to  me.  The  necessity  for  ex- 
tending as  far  as  possible  my  studies  in  exegesis  and 
Semitic  philology  compelled  me  to  learn  German. 
I  had  no  elementary  knowledge  of  it,  for  at  St. 
Nicholas  my  education  had  been  wholly  Latin  and 
French.  I  do  not  complain  of  this.  A  man  should 
only  have  a  literary  knowledge  of  two  languages, 
Latin  and  his  own ;  but  he  should  understand  all 
those  which  may  be  useful  to  him  for  business  or 
instruction.     An  obliging  fellow  pupil  from  Alsace, 

M.  Kl ,  whose  name  I  often  see  mentioned  as 

rendering  services  to  his  compatriots  in  Paris,  kindly 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY,  245 

helped  me  at  the  outset.  Literature  was  to  my 
mind  such  a  secondary  matter,  amidst  the  ardent  in- 
vestigation which  absorbed  me,  that  I  did  not  at 
first  pay  much  attention  to  it.  Nevertheless,  I  felt 
a  new  genius,  very  different  from  that  of  the  seven- 
teenth century.  I  admired  it  all  the  more  because 
I  did  not  see  any  limit  to  it.  The  spirit  peculiar  to 
Germany  at  the  close  of  the  last  century,  and  in  the 
first  half  of  the  present  one,  had  a  very  striking  effect 
upon  me ;  I  felt  as  if  entering  a  place  of  worship. 
This  was  just  what  I  was  in  search  of,  the  concilia- 
tion of  a  truly  religious  spirit  with  the  spirit  of 
criticism.  There  were  times  when  I  was  sorry  that 
I  was  not  a  Protestant,  so  that  I  might  be  a  philoso- 
pher without  ceasing  to  be  a  Christian.  Then, 
again,  I  recognized  the  fact  that  the  Catholics  alone 
are  consistent.  A  single  error  proves  that  a  Church 
it  not  infallible ;  one  weak  part  proves  that  a  book 
is  not  a  revealed  one.  Outside  rigid  orthodoxy, 
there  was  nothing,  so  far  as  I  could  see,  except  free 
thought  after  the  manner  of  the  French  school  of 
the  eighteenth  century.  My  familiarity  with  the 
German  studies  placed  me  in  a  very  false  position  ; 
for  upon  the  one  hand  it  proved  to  me  the  impossi- 
bility of  an  exegesis  .which  did  not  make  any  con- 
cessions, while  upon  the  other  hand  I  quite  saw  that 
the  masters  of  St.  Sulpice  were  quite  right  in  refusing 


246  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

to  make  these  concessions,  inasmuch  as  a  single  con- 
fession of  error  ruins  the  whole  edifice  of  absolute 
truth,  and  reduces  it  to  the  level  of  human  authorities 
in  which  each  person  makes  his  selections  according 
to  his  individual  fancy. 

'T^or  in  a  divine  book  everything  must  be  true,  and 
as  two  contradictories  cannot  both  be  true,  it  must 
not  contain  any  contradiction.  But  the  careful 
study  of  the  Bible  which  I  •  had  undertaken,  while 
revealing  to  me  many  historical  and  esthetic  treas- 
ures, proved  to  me  also  that  it  w^as  not  more  exempt 
than  any  other  ancient  book  from  contradictions,  in- 
advertencies, and  errors.  It  contains  fables,  legends, 
and  other  traces  of  purely  human  composition.  It 
is  no  longer  possible  for  any  one  to  assert  that  the 
second  part  of  the  book  of  Isaiah  was  written  by 
Isaiah.  The  book  of  Daniel,  which,  according  to  all 
orthodox  tenets,  relates  to  the  period  of  the  captiv- 
ity, Is  an  apocryphal  work  composed  In  the  year  169 
or  170  B.C.  The  book  of  Judith  is  an  historical  im- 
possibility. The  attribution  of  the  Pentateuch  to 
Moses  does  not  bear  investigation,  and  to  deny  that 
several  parts  of  Genesis  are  mystical  In  their  mean- 
ing is  equivalent  to  admitting  as  actual  realities 
descriptions  such  as  that  of  the  Garden  of  Eden,  the 
apple,  and  Noah*s  Ark.  He  is  not  a  true  Catholic 
who  departs  In  the  smallest  iota  from  the  traditional 


THE    ST.  SULPICE   SEMINARY.  24/ 

theses.  What  becomes  of  the  miracle  which  Bossuet 
so  admired :  "  Cyrus  referred  to  two  hundred  years 
before  his  birth  "  ?  What  becomes  of  the  seventy 
weeks  of  years,  the  basis  of  the  calculations  of  uni- 
versal history,  if  that  part  of  Isaiah  in  which  Cyrus 
is  referred  to  Avas  composed  during  the  lifetime  of 
that  warrior,  and  if  the  pseudo-Daniel  is  a  contem- 
porary of  Antiochus  Epiphanes  ? 

Orthodoxy  calls  upon  us  to  believe  that  the 
biblical  books  are  the  work  of  those  to  whom  their 
titles  assign  them.  The  mildest  Catholic  doctrine 
as  to  inspiration  will  not  allow  one  to  admit  that 
there  is  any  marked  error  in  the  sacred  text,  or  any 
contradiction  in  matters  which  do  not  relate  either 
to  faith  or  morality,  Well,  let  us  allow  that  out  of 
the  thousand  disputes  between  the  critique  and 
orthodox  apologetics  as  to  the  details  of  the  so- 
called  sacred  text  there  are  some  in  which  by  accident 
and  contrary  to  appearances  the  latter  are  in  the 
right.  It  is  impossible  that  it  can  be  right  in  all  the 
thousand  cases,  and  it  has  only  to  be  wrong  once 
for  all  the  theory  as  to  its  inspiration  to  be  reduced 
to  nothing.  This  theory  of  inspiration,  implying  a 
supernatural  fact,  becomes  impossible  to  uphold  in 
the  presence  of  the  decided  ideas  of  our  modern 
common  sense.  An  inspired  book  is  a  miracle.  It 
should  present  itself  to  us  under  conditions  totally 


r 


248  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH, 

different  from  any  other  book.  It  may  be  said  : 
^^  You  are  not  so  exacting  in  respect  to  Herodotus 
and  the  poems  of  Homer.'*  This  is  quite  true,  but 
then  Herodotus  and  the  Homeric  poems  do  not  pro- 
fess to  be  inspired  books. 

With  regard  to  contradictions,  for  instance,  no 
one  whose  mind  is  free  from  theological  preoccupa- 
tions can  do  other  than  admit  the  irreconcilable 
divergencies  between  the  synopsists  and  the  author 
of  the  Fourth  Gospel,  and  between  the  synopsists 
compared  with  one  another.  For  us  rationalists 
this  is  not  of  much  importance ;  but  the  orthodox 
reasoner,  compelled  to  be  of  opinion  that  his  book 
is  right  in  every  particular,  finds  himself  involved  in 
endless  subtleties.  Silvestre  de  Sacy  was  very  much 
perplexed  by  the  quotations  from  the  Old  Testa- 
ment which  are  met  with  in  the  New.  He  found  it 
so  difficult,  with  his  predilection  for  accuracy  in 
quotations,  to  reconcile  them  that  he  eventually  ad- 
mitted as  a  principle  that  the  two  Testaments  are 
both  infallible  of  themselves,  but  that  the  New 
Testament  is  not  so  when  it  quotes  the  Old.  Only 
those  who  have  no  sort  of  experience  in  the  ways  of 
religion  will  feel  any  surprise  that  men  of  such  great 
powers  of  application  should  have  clung  to  such  un- 
tenable positions.  In  these  shipwrecks  of  a  faith 
upon  which  you  have  centred  your  life,  you  cling  to 


THE   ST.  SULPICE    SEMINARY.  249 

the  most  unlikely  means  of  salvage  rather  than  allow 
all  you  cherish  to  go  to  the  bottom. 

The  worldly  who  believe  that  people  are  brought 
to  a  decision  in  the  choice  of  their  opinions  by 
reasons  of  sympathy  or  antipathy  will  no  doubt  be 
surprised  at  the  train  of  reasoning  which  alienated 
me  from  the  Christian  faith,  to  which  I  had  so  many 
motives,  both  of  interest  and  inclination,  for  remain- 
ing attached.  Those  who  have  not  the  scientific 
spirit  can  scarcely  understand  that  one's  opinions 
are  formed  outside  of  one  by  a  sort  of  im.personal 
concretion  of  which  one  is,  so  to  speak,  the  spectator. 
In  thus  letting  my  course  be  shaped  by  the  force  of 
events,  I  believed  myself  to  be  conforming  to  the 
rules  of  the  seventeenth  century  school,  especially 
to  those  of  Malebranche,  whose  first  principle  is  that 
reason  should  be  contemplated,  that  man  has  no 
part  in  its  procreation,  and  that  his  sole  duty  is  to 
stand  before  the  truth,  free  from  all  personal  bias, 
ready  to  let  himself  be  led  whither  the  balance  of 
demonstration  wills  it.  So  far  from  having  from  the 
outset  certain  results  in  view,  these  illustrious 
thinkers  urged  in  the  interests  of  the  truth  the 
obliteration  of  anything  like  a  wish,  a  tendency,  or  a 
personal  attachment.  The  great  reproach  of  the 
preachers  of  the  seventeenth  century  against  the 
libertines  was  that  they  had  embraced  their  desires 


250  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

and  had  adopted  irreligious  opinions  because  they 
wished  them  to  be  true. 

In  this  great  struggle  between  my  reason  and  my 
beliefs  I  was  careful  to  avoid  a  single  reasoning  from 
abstract  philosophy.  The  method  of  natural  and 
physical  sciences  which  at  Issy  had  imposed  itself 
upon  me  as  an  absolute  law  led  me  to  distrust  all 
system.  I  was  never  stopped  by  any  objection  with 
regard  to  the  dogmas  of  the  Trinity  and  the  In- 
carnation regarded  in  themselves.  These  dogmas, 
occurring  in  the  metaphysical  ether  did  not  shock  any 
opposite  opinion  in  me.  Nothing  that  was  open  to 
criticism  in  the  policy  and  tendency  of  the  Church, 
either  in  the  past  or  the  present,  made  the  slightest 
impression  upon  me.  If  I  could  have  believed  that 
theology  and  the  Bible  were  true,  none  of  the  doc- 
trines which  were  afterward  embodied  in  the  Syllabus, 
and  which  were  thereupon  more  or  less  promulgated, 
would  have  given  me  any  trouble.  My  reasons  were 
entirely  of  a  philological  and  critical  order ;  not  in 
the  least  of  a  metaphysical,  political,  or  moral  kind. 
These  orders  of  ideas  seemed  scarcely  tangible  and 
capable  of  being  applied  in  any  sense.  But  the 
question  as  to  whether  there  are  contradictions  be- 
tween the  Fourth  Gospel  and  the  synoptics  is  one 
which  there  can  be  no  difficulty  in  grasping.  I  can 
see  these  contradictions  with  such  absolute  clearness 


THE    ST,   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  251 

that  I  would  stake  my  life,  and,  consequently,  my 
eternal  salvation,  upon  their  reality  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation.  In  a  question  of  this  kind  there 
can  be  none  of  those  subterfuges  which  involve  all 
moral  and  political  opinions  in  so  much  doubt.  I 
do  not  admire  either  Philip  II.  or  Pius  V.,  but 
if  I  had  no  material  reasons  for  disbelieving  the 
Catholic  creed,  the  atrocities  of  the  former  and  the 
fagots  of  the  latter  would  not  be  obstacles  to  my 
faith. 

Many  eminent  minds  have  on  various  occasions 
hinted  to  me  that  I  should  never  have  broken  away 
from  Catholicism  if  I  had  not  formed  so  narrow  a  view 
of  it ;  or  if,  to  put  it  in  another  way,  my  teachers 
had  not  given  me  this  narrow  view  of  it.  Some  peo- 
ple hold  St.  Sulpice  partially  responsible  for  my  incre- 
dulity, and  reproach  that  establishment  upon  the  one 
hand  with  having  inspired  me  with  too  complete  a 
trust  in  a  scholasticism  which  implied  an  e:5taggerated 
rationalism,  and,  upon  the  other,  with  having  required 
me  to  admit  as  necessary  to  salvation  the  sicmmum 
of  orthodoxy,  thus  inordinately  increasing  the  amount 
of  sustenance  to  be  swallowed,  while  they  narrowed 
in  undue  proportions  the  orifice  through  which  it  was 
to  pass.  This  is  very  unfair.  The  directors  of  St. 
Sulpice,  in  representing  Christianity  in  this  light,  and 
by  being  so  open  as  to  the  measure  of  belief  required, 


252  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

were  simply  acting  like  honest  men.  They  were  not 
the  persons  who  would  have  added  the  gratifying 
est  dc  fide  after  a  number  of  untenable  propositions. 
One  of  the  worst  kinds  of  intellectual  dishonesty  is  to 
play  upon  words,  to  represent  Christianity  as  imposing 
scarcely  any  sacrifice  upon  reason,  and  in  this  way  to 
inveigh  people  into  it  without  letting  them  know  to 
what  they  have  committed  themselves.  This  is  where 
Catholic  laymen,  who  dub  themselves  liberals,  are 
under  such  a  delusion.  Ignorant  of  theology  and 
exegesis,  they  treat  accession  to  Christianity  as  if  it 
were  a  mere  adhesion  to  a  coterie.  They  pick  and 
choose,  admitting  one  dogma  and  rejecting  another, 
and  then  they  are  very  indignant  if  any  one  tells 
them  that  they  are  not  true  Catholics.  No  one  who 
has  studied  theology  can  be  guilty  of  such  incon- 
sistency, as  in  his  eyes  everything  rests  upon  the  in- 
fallible authority  of  the  Scripture  and  the  Church ; 
he  has  na  choice  to  make.  To  abandon  a  single 
dogma  or  reject  a  single  tenet  in  the  teaching  of  the 
Church,  is  equivalent  to  the  negation  of  the  Church 
and  of  Revelation.  In  a  church  founded  upon  divine 
authority,  it  is  as  much  an  act  of  heresy  to  deny  a 
single  point  as  to  deny  the  whole.  If  a  single  stone 
IS  pulled  out  of  the  building,  the  whole  edifice  must 
come  to  the  ground.  • 

Nor  is  there  any  good  to  be  gained  by  saying  that 


THE   ST.   SULPJCE   SEMINARY.  253 

the  Church  will,  perhaps  some  day  make  concessions 
which  will  break  the  necessity  of  ruptures,  such  as 
that  which  I  felt  forced  upon  me,  and  that  it  will  then 
be  seen  that  I  have  renounced  the  kingdom  of  God 
for  a  trumpery  cause.  I  am  perfectly  well  aware  how 
far  the  Church  can  go  in  the  way  of  concession,  and 
I  know  what  are  the  points  upon  which  it  is  useless 
to  ask  her  for  a,ny.  The  Catholic  Church  will  never 
abandon  a  jot  or  title  of  her  scholastic  and  orthodox 
system ;  she  can  no  more  do  so  than  the  Comte  de 
Chambord  can  cease  to  be  legitimist.  I  have  njo 
doubt  that  there  will  be  schisms,  more,  perhaps,  than 
ever  before,  but  the  true  Catholic  will  be  inflexible  in 
the  declaration :  "  If  I  must  abandon  my  past,  I  shall 
abandon  the  whole  ;  for  I  believe  in  everything  upon 
the  princible  of  infallibility,  and  this  principle  is  as 
much  affected  by  one  small  concession  as  by  ten 
thousand  large  ones.'*  For  the  Catholic  Church  to 
admit  that  Daniel  was  an  apocryphal  person  of  the 
time  of  the  Maccabees,  would  be  to  admit  that  she 
had  made  a  mistake  ;  if  she  was  mistaken  in  that  she 
may  have  been  mistaken  in  others,  and  she  is  no 
longer  divinely  inspired. 

I  do  not,  therefore,  in  any  way  regret  having  been 
brought  into  contact,  for  my  religious  education, 
with  sincere  teachers,  who  would  have  scrupulously 
avoided  letting  me  labor  under  any  illusion  as  to 


254  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOU  TIL 

what  a  Catholic  is  required  to  admit.  The  Catholicism 
which  was  taught  me  is  not  the  insipid  compromise, 
suitable  only  for  laymen,  which  has  led  to  so  many 
misunderstandings  in  the  present  day.  My  Cathol- 
icism was  that  of  Scripture,  of  the  councils,  and  of 
the  theologians.  This  Catholicism  I  loved,  and  I 
still  respect  it ;  having  found  it  inadmissible,  I  sepa- 
rated myself  from  it.  This  is  a  straightforward  course, 
but  what  is  not  straightforward  is  to  pretend  igno- 
rance of  the  engagement  contracted,  and  to  become 
the  apologist  of  things  concerning  which  one  is 
Ignorant.  I  have  never  lent  fnyself  to  a  falsehood 
of  this  description,  and  I  have  looked  upon  it  as 
disrespectful  to  the  faith  to  practise  deceit  with  it. 
It  is  no  fault  of  mine  if  my  masters  taught  me  logic, 
and  by  their  uncompromising  arguments  made  my 
mind  as  trenchant  as  a  blade  of  steel.  I  took  what 
was  taught  me — scholasticism,  syllogistic  rules,  the- 
ology, and  Hebrew — in  earnest ;  I  was  an  apt  student ; 
I  am  not  to  be  numbered  with  the  lost  for  that. 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY. 

PART  IV. 

Such  were  these  two  years  of  inward  labor,  which 
I  cannot  compare  to  anything  better  then  a  violent 
attack  o^encephalitis,  during  which  all  my  other 
functions  of  life  were  suspended  with  a  certain 
amount  of  Hebraic  pedantry.  I  called  this  crisis  in 
my  life  Naphtali/'^  and  I  often  repeated  to  myself 
the  Hebrew  saying:  ^' Naphtoul^  elo/mn  niphiali  {\ 
have  fought  the  fight  of  God)."  My  inward  feelings 
were  not  changed,  but  each  day  a  stitch  in  the  tissue 
of  my  faith  was  broken;  the  immense  amount  of 
work  which  I  had  irt  hand  prevented  me  from  draw- 
ing the  conclusion.  My  Hebrew  lecture  absorbed 
my  whole  thoughts ;  I  was  like  a  man  holding  his 
breath.  My  director,  to  whom  I  confided  my  diffi- 
culties, replied  in  just  the  same  terms  as  M.  Gosselin 
at  Issy:  "  Inroads  upon  your  faith  !  Pay  no  heed 
of  that ;  keep  straight  on  your  way.'*  One  day  he 
got  me  to  read  the  letter  which  St.  Frangois  de  Sales 

*  Lucta  inea,  Genesis,  ch.  xxx.  v.  8. 

25s 


256  RECOLLECTIONS  OE  MY    YOUTH, 

wrote  to  Madame  de  Chautal :  "These  temptations 
are  but  afflictions  like  unto  others.  I  may  tell  you 
that  I  have  known  but  few  persQns  who  have 
achieved  any  progress  without  going  through  this 
ordeal ;  patience  is  the  only  remedy.  You  must  not 
make  any  reply,  nor  appear  to  hear  what  the  enemy 
says.  Let  him  make  as  much  noise  at  the  door  as 
he  likes  without  so  much  as  exclaiming,  ^  Who  is 
there  ?  '  " 

The  general  practice  of  ecclesiastical  directors  is, 
in  fact,  to  advise  those  who  confess  to  feeling  doubts 
concerning  the  faith  not  to  dwell  upon  them.  In- 
stead of  postponing  the  engagements  on  this  account, 
they  rather  hurry  them  forward,  thinking  that  these 
difficulties  will  disappear  when  it  is  too  late  to  ^\v^ 
practical  effect  to  them,  and  that  the  cares  of  an 
active  clerical  career  will  ultimately  dispel  these  spec- 
ulative doubts.  In  this  regard,  -I  must  confess  that 
I  found  my  godly  directors  rather  deficient  in  wis- 
dom. My  director  in  Paris,  a  very  enlightened  man 
withal,  was  anxious  that  I  should  be  at  once  ordained 
a  sub-deacon,  the  first  of  the  holy  orders  which  con- 
stitutes an  irrevocable  tie.  I  refused  point-blank. 
So  far  as  regarded  the  first  steps  of  the  ecclesiastical 
state,  I  had  obeyed  him.  It  was  he  himself  who 
pointed  out  to  me  that  the  exact  form  of  the  engage- 
ment which  they  imply  is  contained  in  the  words  of 


THE   ST.  SULTICE    SEMINARY,  257 

the  Psalm  which  are  repeated :  "  The  Lord  is  the 
portion  of  mine  inheritance  and  of  my  cup  ;  thou 
maintainest  my  lot."  Well,  I  can  honestly  declare 
that  I  have  never  been  untrue  to  that  engagement. 
I  have  never  had  any  other  interest  than  that  of  the 
truth,  and  I  have  made  many  sacrifices  for  it.  An 
elevated  idea  has  always  sustained  me  in  the  conduct 
of  my  life,  so  much  so  that  I  am  ready  to  forego  the 
inheritance  which,  according  to  our  reciprocal  ar- 
rangement, God  ought  to  restore  to  me :  "  The  lines 
are  fallen  to  me  in  pleasant  places ;  yea^  I  have  a 
goodly  inherit ance^ 

My  friend  in  the  seminary  of  St.  Brieuc  "^  had  de- 
cided, after  much  hesitation,  tp  take  holy  orders.  I 
have  found  the  letter  which  I  wrote  to  him  on  the 
26th  of  March,  1844,  at  a  time  when  my  doubts  with 
regard  to  religion  were  not  disturbing  my  peace  of 
mind  so  much  as  they  had  done. 

''  I  was  pleased  but  not  surprised  to  hear  that  you 
had  taken  the  final  step.  The  uneasiness  by  which 
you  were  beset  must  always  make  itself  felt  in  the 
mind  of  one  who  realizes  the  serious  import  of  as- 
suming the  order  of  priesthood.     The  trial  is  a  pain- 

*  His  name  was  Fran9ois  Liart.  He  was  a  very  upright  and  high- 
minded  young  man.  He  died  at  Tre'guier  at  the  end  of  March,  1845. 
His  family  sent  me  after  his  death  all  my  letters  to  him,  and  I  have 
them  still. 


258  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

ful  but  an  honorable  one,  and  I  should  not  think 
much  of  one  who  reached  the  priestly  calling  with- 
out having  experienced  it.  ...  I  have  told  you  how 
a  power  independent  of  my  will  shook  within  me 
the  beliefs  which  have  hitherto  been  the  main 
foundations  of  my  life  and  of  my  happiness.  These 
temptations  are  cruel  indeed,  and  I  should  be  full  of 
pity  for  any  one  who  was  ever  tortured  by  them. 
How  wanting  in  tact  toward  those  who  have  suf- 
fered these  temptations  are  the  persons  who  have 
never  been  assailed  by  them  !  It  is  no  wonder  that 
such  should  be  the  case,  for  one  must  have  had  ex- 
perience of  a  thing  thoroughly  to  understand  it,  and 
the  subject  is  such  a  delicate  one,  that  I  question 
whether  there  are  any  two  human  beings  more  in- 
capable of  understanding  one  another  than  a  believer 
and  a  doubter,  however  complete  may  be  their  good 
faith  and  even  their  intelligence.  They  speak  two 
unintelligible  languages,  unless  the  grace  of  God 
intervenes  as  an  interpreter.  I  have  felt  how  com- 
pletely maladies  of  this  kind  are  beyond  all  human 
remedy,  and  that  God  has  reserved  the  treatment  of 
them  to  himself,  mami  mitissima  et  simvissiina  per- 
tractans  vubiera  mea^  to  quote  St.  Augustin,  who 
evidently  speaks  from  experience.  At  times  the 
Angclus  Sotana  qui  me  colaphizet  wakes  up.  Such, 
my  dear  friend,  is  our  fate,  and  we  must  abide  by  it. 


THE   ST.  SULFICE   SEMINARY.  259 

Converte  te  sufra^  converte  te  infra,  life,  especially 
for  the  clergy,  is  a  battle,  and  perhaps  in  the  Wng 
run,  these  storms  are  better  for  man  than  a  dead 
calm,  which  would  send  him  to  sleep.  ...  I  can 
hardly  bring  myself  to  fancy  that  within  a  twelve- 
month you  will  be  a  priest,  you  who  were  my  school- 
fellow and  friend  as  a  boy.  Apd  now  we  are  half- 
way through  life,  according  to  the  ordinary  mode  of 
reckoning,  and  the  second  half  will  probably  not  be 
the  pleasantest  of  the  two.  This  surely  should  make 
us  look  upon  passing  ills  as  of  no  account,  and  to 
endure  with  patience  the  troubles  of  a  few  days,  at 
which  we  shall  smile  in  a  few  years'  time,  and  not 
think  of  in  eternity.     Vanity  of  vanities !  " 

A  year  later  the  malady,  which  I  thought  was 
only  a  fleeting  one,  had  spread  to  my  Whole  con- 
science. Upon  the  22d  of  March,  1845,  I  wrote  a 
letter  to  my  friend  which  he  could  not  read,  as  he 
was  on  his  death-bed  when  it  reached  him. 

"■  My  position  in  the  seminary  has  not  varied  much 
since  our  last  conversation.  I  am  allowed  to  attend 
all  the  lectures  on  Syriac  of  M.  Quatremere,  at  the 
College  de  France,  and  I  find  them  extremely  in- 
teresting. They  are  useful  to  me  in  many  ways; 
in  the  first  place  by  enabling  me  to  learn  much  that 
is  useful  and  attractive,  and  by  distracting  my  mind 
from  certain  subjects.  ...  I  should  be  quite  happy  if 


26o  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

it  were  not  that  the  painful  thoughts  of  which  you 
art  aware  were  ever  afflicting  my  mind  at  an  in- 
creasingly rapid  rate.  I  have  quite  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  accept  the  grade  of  sub-deacon  at  the 
next  ordination.  This  will  not  excite  any  notice,  as 
owing  to  my  age  I  should  be  compelled  to  allow  a 
certain  interval  to^  elapse  between  my  different 
orders.  Nor,  for  the  matter  of  that,  is  there  any 
reason  why  I  should  care  for  what  people  think.  I 
must  accustom  myself  to  brave  public  opinion,  so  as 
to  be  ready  for  any  sacrifice.  I  suffer  much  at  times. 
This  Holy  Week,  for  instance,  has  been  particularly 
painful  for  me,  for  every  incident  which  bears  me 
away  from  my  ordinary  life,  revives  all  my  anxious 
doubts.  I  console  myself  by  thinking  of  Jesus,  so 
beautiful,*so  pure,  so  ideal  in  His  suffering — Jesus 
whom  I  hope  to  love  always.  Even  if  I  should  ever 
abandon  Him,  that  would  give  Him  pleasure,  for  it 
would  be  a  sacrifice  made  to  my  conscience,  and 
God  knows  that  it  would  be  a  costly  one  !  I  think 
that  you,  at  all  events,  would  understand  how  costly 
it  would  be.  How  little  freedom  of  choice  man  has 
in  the  ordering  of  his  destiny.  When  no  more  than 
a  child  who  acts  from  impulse  and  the  sense  of 
imitation,  one  is  called  upon  to  stake  one's  whole 
existence ;  a  higher  power  entangles  you  in  indis- 
soluble toils ;  this  power  pursues  its  work  in  silence, 


THE    ST,   SULPICE   SEAIINARY,  261 

and  before,  you  have  begun  to  know  your  own  self, 
you  are  tied  and  bound,  you  know  not  how.  When 
you  reach  a  certain  age,  you  wake  up  and  would 
like  to  move.  But  it  is  impossible ;  your  hands  and 
arms  are  caught  in  inextricable  folds.  It  is  God 
himself  who  holds  you  fast,  and  remorseless  opinion 
is  looking  on,  ready  to  laugh  if  you  signify  that  you 
are  tired  of  the  toys  which  amused  you  as  a  child. 
It  would  be  nothing  if  there  was  only  public  opinion 
to  brave.  But  the  pity  is  that  all  the  softest  ties  of 
your  life  are  woven  into  the  web  that  entangles  you, 
and  you  must  pluck  out  one-half  of  your  heart  if  you 
would  escape  from  it.  Many  a  time  I  have  wished 
that  man  was  born  either  completely  free,  or  de- 
prived of  all  freedom.  He  would  not  be  so  much 
to  be  pitied  if  he  was  born  like  the  plant  family, 
fixed  to  the  soil  which  is  to  give  it  nourishment. 
With  the  dole  of  liberty  allowed  to  him,  he  is  strong 
enough  to  resist,  but  not  strong  enough  to  act ;  he 
has  just  what  is  required  to  make  hirn  unhappy. 
''My  God,  My  God,  why  hast  Thou  forsaken  Me?'' 
How  is  all  this  to  be  reconciled  with  the  sway  of  a 
father  ?  There  are  mysteries  in  all  this,  and  happy 
is  he  who  fathoms  them  only  in  speculation. 

''  It  is  only  because  you  are  so  true  a  friend  that  I 
tell  you  all  this.  I  have  no  need  to  ask  you  to  keep 
it  to  yourself.     You  will  understand  that  I  must  be 


262  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

very  circumspect  with  regard  to  my  mother.  I 
would  rather  die  than  cause  her  a  moment's  pain. 
Oh  God!  shall  I  have  the  strength  of  mind  to  give 
my  duty  the  preference  over  her  ?  I  commend  her 
to  you  ;  she  is  very  pleased  with  your  attentiveness 
to  her.  This  is  the  most  real  kindness  you  can  do 
me," 


THE  ST.  SULPICE  SEMINARY. 

PART  V. 

I  THUS  reached  the  vacation  of  1845,  which  I 
spent,  as  I  had  the  preceding  ones,  in  Brittany. 
There  I  had  much  more  time  for  reflection.  The^ 
grains  of  sand  of  my  doubts  accumulated  into  a 
soHd  mass.  My  director,  who,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions in  the  world,  gave  me  bad  advice,  was  no 
longer  within  my  reach.  I  ceased  to  take  part  in 
the  sacraments  of  the  Church,  though  I  still  retained 
my  former  fondness  for  its  prayers.  Christianity 
appeared  to  me  greater  than  ever  before,  but  I 
could  only  cling  to  the  supernatural  by  an  effort  of 
habit — by  a  sort  of  fiction  with  myself.  The  task 
of  logic  was  done ;  that  of  honesty  was  about  to 
begin.  For  nearly  two  months  I  was  Protestant ; 
I  could  not  make  up  my  mind  to  abandon  altogether 
the  great  religious  tradition  which  had  hitherto  been 
part  of  my  life ;  I  mused  upon  future  reforms,  when 
the  philosophy  of  Christianity,  disencumbered  of  all 
superstitious  dross  and  yet  preserving  its  moral 
efficacy    (that    was  my  great  dream),  would  be  left 

263 


264  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTLL 

the  great  school  of  humanity  and  its  guide  to  the 
future.  My  readings  in  German  gave  nurture  to 
these  ideas.  Herder  was  the  German  writer  with 
whom  I  was  most  famihar.  His  vast  views  dehghted 
me,  and  I  said  to  myself  with  keen  regret,  if  I  could 
but  think  all  that  like  a  Herder  and  remain  a  priest, 
a  Christian  preacher.  But  with  my  notions  at  once 
precise  and  respectful  of  Catholicism,  I  could  not 
succeed  in  conceiving  any  honorable  way  of  remain- 
ing a  Catholic  priest  while  retaining  my  opinions.  I 
was  Christian  after  the  fashion  of  a  professor  of 
theology  at  Halle  or  Tubingen.  An  inward  voice 
told  me  :  ''  Thou  art  no  longer  Catholic  ;  thy  robe 
is  a  lie  ;  cast  it  off." 

I  was  a  Christian,  however ;  for  all  the  papers  of 
that  date  which  I  have  preserved  give  clear  expres- 
sion to  the  feeling  which  I  have  since  endeavored 
to  portray  in  the  Vic  de  Jdsus,  I  mean  a  keen  re- 
gard for  the  evangehc  ideal  and  for  the  character  of 
the  Founder  of  Christianity.  The  idea  that  in  aban- 
doning the  Church  I  should  remain  faithful  to  Jesus 
got  hold  upon  me,  and  if  I  could  have  brought 
myself  to  believe  in  apparitions  I  should  certainly 
have  seen  Jesus  saying  to  me :  *^  Abandon  Me  to 
become  My  disciple."  This  thought  sustained  and 
emboldened  me.  I  may  say  that  from  that  moment 
my  Vie  de  Jdsus  was  mentally  written.    Belief  in  the 


THE   S7\  SULPICE   SEMINARY.  265 

eminent  personality  of  Jesus — which  is  the  spirit  of 
that  book — had  been  my  mainstay  in  my  struggle 
against  theology.  Jesus  has  in  reality  ever  been  my 
master.  In  following  out  the  truth  at  the  cost  of 
any  sacrifice  I  was  convinced  that  I  was  following 
Him  and  obeying  the  most  imperative  of  His 
precepts. 

I  was  at  this  time  so  far  removed  from  my  old 
Brittany  masters  in  respect  to  disposition,  intellectual 
culture  and  study  that  conversation  between  us  had 
become  almost  impossible.  One  of  them  suspected 
something,  and  said  to  me:  "  I  have  always  thought 
that  you  were  being  overdone  in  the  way  of  study." 
A  habit  which  I  had  acquired  of  reciting  the  psalms 
m  Hebrew  from  a  small  manuscript  of  my  own 
which  I  used  as  a  breviary,  surprised  them  very 
much.  They  were  half  inclined  to  ask  me  if  I  was 
a  Jew.  My  mother  guessed  all  that  was  taking  place 
without  quite  understanding  it.  I  continued,  as  in 
my  childhood,  to  take  long  walks  into  the  country 
with  her.  One  day,  we  sat  down  in  the  valley  of 
Guindy,  near  the  Chapelle  des  Cinq  Plaies,  by  the 
side  of  the  spring.  For  hours  I  read  by  her  side, 
without  raising  my  eyes  from  the  book,  which  was  a 
very  harmless  one — M.  de  Bonald's  Rcchcrches  Philo^ 
sophiques.  Nevertheless  the  book  displeased  her,  and 
she  snatched  it  away  frorh  me,  feeling  that  books  of 


266  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

the  same  description,  if  not  this  particular  one,  were 
what  she  had  to  dread. 

Upon  the    6th   of   September,   1845,  I  wrote  to 

M. ,  my  director,  the  following  letter,  a  copy  of 

which  I  have  found  among  my  papers,  and  which  I 
reproduce  without  in  any  way  attenuating  its  some- 
what inconsistent  and  feverish  tone. 

"Sir, — Owing  to  having  had  to  make  two  or 
three  journeys  at  the  beginning  of  the  vacation,  I 
have  been  unable  to  correspond  with  you  as  early  as 
I  could  have  wished.  I  was  none  the  less  urgently 
in  need  of  unbosoming  myself  to  you  with  regard  to 
pangs  which  increase  in  intensity  each  day,  and 
which  I  feel  all  the  keener  because  there  is  no  one 
here  to  whom  I  can  confide  them.  What  ought  to 
make  for  my  happiness  causes  me  the  deepest  sorrow. 
An  imperious  sense  of  duty  compels  me  to  concen- 
trate my  thoughts  upon  myself,  in  order  to  spare 
pain  to  those  who  surround  me  with  their  affection, 
and  who  would  moreover  be  quite*  incapable  of  un- 
derstanding my  perplexity.  Their  kindness  and 
soothing  words  cut  me  to  the  quick.  Oh,  if  they 
only  knew  what  was  going  on  in  the  recesses  of  my 
heart !  Since  my  stay  here  I  have  acquired  some 
important  data  towards  the  solution  of  the  great 
problem  which  is  preoccupying  my  mind.  Several 
circumstances  have,  to  begin  with,  made  mc  realize 


THE   ST,    SULFICE   SEMINARY.  267 

the  greatness  of  the  sacrifice  which  God  required  of 
me,  and  into  what  an  abyss  the  course  which  my 
conscience  prescribes  must  plunge  me.  It  is  useless 
to  describe  them  to  you  in  detail,  as,  after  all,  con- 
siderations of  this  kind  can  be  of  no  weight  in  the 
resolution  which  has  to  be  taken.  To  have  aban- 
doned a  path  which  I  had  selected  from  my  child- 
hood, and  which  led  without  danger  to  the  pure  and 
noble  aims  which  I  had  set  before  myself,  in  order 
to  tread  another  along  which  I  could  discern  nothing 
but  uncertainty  and  disappointment ;  to  have  disre- 
garded the  opinion  which  will  have  only  blame  in 
store  for  what  is  really  an  honest  act  on  my  part, 
would  have  been  a  small  thing,  if  I  had  not  at  the 
same  time  been  compelled  to  tear  out  part  of  my 
heart,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  to  pierce  another 
to  which  my  own  was  so  deeply  attached.  Filial 
love  had  grown  in  proportion  as  so  many  other 
affections  were  crushed  out.  Well,  it  is  in  this  part 
of  my  being  that  duty  exacts  from  me  the  most 
painful  sacrifice.  My  leaving  the  seminary  w^ill  be 
an  inexplicable  enigma  to  my  mother ;  she  will  be- 
lieve that  I  have  killed  her  out  of  sheer  caprice.        «^ 

^'  Truly  may  I  say  that  when  I  envisage  the  inex- 
tricable mesh  in  which  God  has  ensnared  me  while 
my  reason  and  freedom  were  asleep,  while  I  was 
following  with  docile  steps  the  path  He  had  Himself 


268  RECOLLECTIONS  OE  MY    YOU  TIL 

traced  out  for  me,  distracting  thoughts  crowd  them- 
selves upon  me.  God  knows  that  I  was  simple- 
minded  and  pure;  I  took  nothing  upon  myself;  I 
walked  with  free  and  unflagging  steps  in  the  path 
which  He  disclosed  before  me,  and  behold  this  path 
has  led  me  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice !  God  has 
betrayed  me  !  I  never  doubted  but  what  a  wise 
and  merciful  Providence  governed  the  universe  and 
governed  me  in  the  course  which  I  was  to  take. 
It  is  not,  however,  without  considerable  effort  that  I 
have  been  able  to  apply  so  formal  a  contradiction  to 
apparent  facts.  I  often  say  to  myself  that  vulgar 
common  sense  is  little  capable  of  appreciating  the 
providential  government  whether  of  humanity,  of 
the  universe,'  or  of  the  individual.  The  isolated  con- 
sideration of  facts  would  scarcely  tend  to  optimism* 
It  requires  a  strong  dose  of  optimism  to  credit  God 
with  this  generosity  in  spite  of  experience.  I  hope 
that  I  shall  never  feel  any  hesitation  upon  this  point, 
and  that  whatever  may  be  the  ills  which  Providence 
yet  has  in  store  for  me  I  shall  ever  believe  that  it  is 
guiding  me  to  the  highest  possible  good  through 
the  least  possible  evil. 

"  According  to  what  I  hear  from  Germany,  the 
situation  which  was  offered  me  there  is  still  open  ;  ^ 

*This  has  reference  to  a  post  of  private  tutor  which  was  at  my  dis- 
posal for  a  time. 


THE   ST,   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  269 

only  I  cannot  enter  upon  it  before  the  spring.  This 
makes  my  journey  thither  very  doubtful,  and  throws 
me  back  into  fresh  perplexities.  I  am  also  advised 
to  go  through  a  year  of  free  study  in  Paris,  during 
which  time  I  should  be  able  to  reflect  upon  my 
future  career,  and  also  take  my  university  degrees. 
I  am  very  much  inclined  to  adopt  this  last-named 
course,  for  though  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to 
come  back  to  the  seminary  and  confer  with  you  and 
the  superiors,  I  should  nevertheless  be  very  reluc- 
tant to  make  a  long  stay  there  in  my  present  con- 
dition of  mind.  It  is  with  the  utmost  apprehension 
that  I  mark  the  near  approach  of  the  time  when  my 
inward  irresolution  must  find  expression  in  a  most 
decided  course  of  action.  Hard  it  is  to  have  thus 
to  reascend  the  stream  down  which  one  has  for  so 
long  been  gently  floated !  If  only  I  could  be  sure 
of  the  future,  and  of  being  one  day  able  to  secure 
for  my  ideas  their  due  place,  and  follow  up  at  my 
ease  and  free  from  all  external  preoccupations  the 
work  of  my  intellectual  and  moral  improvement ! 
But  even  could  I  be  sure  of  myself,  how  could  I  be 
of  the  circumstances  which  force  themselves  so 
pitilessly  upon  us?  In  truth,  I  am  driven  to  regret 
the  paltry  store  of  liberty  which  God  has  given  us; 
we  have  enough  to  make  us  struggle;  not  enough  to 
master  destiny,  just  enough  to  insure  suffering. 


2/0  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

"  Happy  are  the  children  who  only  sleep  and 
dream,  and  who  never  have  a  thought  of  entering 
upon  this  struggle  with  God  Himself!  I  see  around 
me  men  of  pure  and  simple  mind,  whom  Christianity 
suffices  to  render  virtuous  and  happy.  God  grant 
that  they  may  never  develop  the  miserable  faculty 
of  criticism  which  so  imperiously  demands  satisfac- 
tion, and  which,  when  once  satisfied,  leaves  such 
little  happiness  in  the  soul !  Would  to  God  that  it 
were  in  my  power  to  suppress  it.  I  would  not 
hesitate  at  amputation  if  it  were  lawful  and  possible. 
Christianity  satisfies  all  my  faculties  except  one, 
which  is  the  most  exacting  of  them  all,  because  it  is 
by  right  judge  over  all  the  others.  Would  it  not 
be  a  contradiction  m  terms  to  impose  conviction 
upon  the  faculty  which  creates  conviction  ?  I  am 
well  aware  that  the  orthodox  will  tell  me  that  it  is 
my  own  fault  if  I  have  fallen  into  this  condition.  I 
will  not  argue  the  point ;  no  man  knows  whether  he 
is  worthy  of  love  or  hatred.  I  am  quite  willing, 
therefore,  to  say  that  it  is  my  fault,  provided  those 
who  love  me  promise  to  pity  me  and  continue  me 
their  friendship. 

"A  result  which  now  seems  beyond  all  doubt  is 
that  I  shall  not  revert  to  orthodoxy  by  continuing 
to  follow  the  same  line, — I  mean  that  of  rational 
and  critical  self-examination.     Up  till  now,  I  hoped 


THE   ST.   SULPICE   SEMINARY.  .  2/1 

that  after  having  traveled  over  the  circle  of  doubt  I 
should  come  back  to  the  starting-point.  I  have 
quite  lost  this  hope,  and  a  return  to  Catholicism  no 
longer  seems  possible  to  me,  except  by  a  receding 
movement,  by  stopping  short  in  the  path  which  I 
have  entered,  by  stigmatizing  reason,  by  declaring  it 
for  once  and  all  null  and  void,  and  by  condemning  it 
to  respectful  silence.  Each  step  in  my  career  of 
criticism  takes  me  further  away  from  the  starting- 
point.  Have  I,  then,  lost  all  hope  of  coming  back 
to  Catholicism?  That  would  be  too  bitter  a 
thought.  No,  sir,  I  have  no  hopes  of  reverting  to 
it  by  rational  progress ;  but  I  have  often  been  on 
the  point  of  repudiating  for  once  and  all  the  guide 
whom  at  times  I  mistrust.  What  v/ould  then  be 
the  motive  of  my  life?  I  cannot  tell ;  but  activity 
will  ever  find  scope.  You  may  be  sure  that  I  must 
have  been  sorely  forced  to  have  dwelt  for  one  instant 
upon  a  thought  which  seems  more  cruel  to  me  than 
death.  And  yet,  if  my  conscience  represented  it  to 
me  as  lawful,  I  should  eagerly  avail  myself  of  it,  if 
only  out  of  common  decency. 

'*I  hope  at  all  events  that  those  who  know  me 
will  admit  that  interested  motives  have  not  estranged 
me  from  Christianity.  Have  not  all  my  material  in- 
terests tempted  me  to  find  it  true  ?  The  temporal 
considerations  against  which  I  have  had  to  struggle 


272  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTIL 

would  have  sufficed  to  persuade  many  others  ;  my 
heart  has  need  of  Christianity ;  the  Gospel  will  ever 
be  my  moral  law ;  the  Church  has  given  me  my 
education,  and  I  love  her.  Could  I  but  continue  to 
style  myself  her  son !  I  pass  from  her  in  spite  of 
myself;  I  abhor  the  dishonest  attacks  leveled  at 
her  ;  I  frankly  confess  that  I  have  no  complete  sub- 
stitute for  her  teaching ;  but  I  cannot  disguise  from 
myself  the  weak  points  which  I  believe  that  I  have 
found  in  it  and  with  regard  to  which  it  is  impossible 
to  effect  a  compromise,  because  we  have  to  do  with 
a  doctrine  in  which  all  the  component  parts  hold 
together  and  cannot  be  detached. 

"  I  sometimes  regret  that  I  was  not  born  in  a  land 
where  the  bonds  of  orthodoxy  are  less  tightly  drawn 
than  in  Catholic  countries.  For,  at  whatever  cost,  I 
am  resolved  to  be  a  Christian  ;  but  I  cannot  be  an 
orthodox  Catholic.  When  I  find  such  independent 
and  bold  thinkers  as  Herder,  Kant,  and  Fichte, 
calling  themselves  Christians,  I  should  like  to  be  so 
too.  But  can  I  be  so  in  the  Catholic  faith,  which  is 
like  a  bar  of  iron  ?  and  you  cannot  reason  with  a 
bar  of  iron.  Will  not  some  one  found  amongst  us 
a  rational  and  critical  Christianity  ?  I  will  confess 
to  you  that  I  believe  that  I  have  discovered  in  some 
German  writers  the  true  kind  of  Christianity  which 
is  adapted  to  us.     May  I  live  to  see  this  Christianity 


THE   ST.   SULPICE    SEMINARY,  2/3 

assuming  a  form  capable  of  fully  satisfying  all  the 
requirements  of  our  age  !  May  I  myself  co-operate 
in  the  great  work !  What  so  grieves  me  is  the 
thought  that  perhaps  it  will  be  needful  to  be  a  priest 
in  order  to  accomplish  that ;  and  I  could  not  become 
a  priest  without  being  guilty  of  hypocrisy. 

^^  Forgive  me,  sir,  these  thoughts,  which  must 
seem  very  reprehensible  to  you.  You  are  aware 
that  all  this  has  not  as  yet  any  dogmatic  consistence 
in  me ;  I  still  cling  to  the  Church,  my  venerable 
mother;  I  recite  the  Psalms  with  heartfelt  accents  ; 
I  should,  if  I  followed  the  bent  of  my  inclination, 
pass  hours  at  a  time  in  church ;  gentle,  plain,  and 
pure  piety  touches  me  to  the  very  heart ;  and  I  even 
have  sharp  relapses  of  devotional  feeling.  All  this 
cannot  coexist  without  contradiction  with  my  general 
condition.  But  I  have  once  for  all  made  up  my  mind 
on  the  subject ;  I  have  cast  off  the  inconvenient 
yoke  of  consistency,  at  all  events  for  the  time.  Will 
God  condemn  me  for  having  simultaneously  ad- 
mitted that  which  my  different  faculties  simultane- 
ously exact,  although  I  am  unable  to  reconcile  their 
contradictory  demands  ?  Are  there  not  periods  in 
the  history  of  the  human  mind  when  contradiction 
is  necessary?  When  the  moral  verities  are  under 
examination,  doubt  is  unavoidable ;  and  yet  during 
this  period   of  transition  the  pure  and  noble  mind 


2/4  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

must  still  be  moral,  thanks  to  a  contradiction.  Thus 
it  is  that  I  am  at  times  both  Catholic  and  Rationalist ; 
but  holy  orders  I  can  never  take,  for  '  once  a  priest, 
always  a  priest/ 

"  In  order  to  keep  my  letter  within  due  limits,  I 
must  bring  the  long  story  of  my  inward  struggles  to 
a  close.  I  thank  God,  who  has  seen  fit  to  put  me 
through  so  severe  a  trial,  for  having  brought  me  into 
contact  with  a  mind  such  as  yours,  which  is  so  well 
able  to  understand  this  trial,  and  to  whom  I  can 
confide  it  without  reserve." 

M. wrote  me  a  very  kind-hearted  reply,  offer- 
ing a  merely  formal  opposition  to  my  project  of 
following  my  own  course  of  study.  My  sister, 
whose  high  intelligence  had  for  years  been  like  the 
pillar  of  fire  which  lighted  my  path,  wrote  from 
Poland  to  encourage  me  in  my  resolution,  which  was 
finally  taken  at  the  end  of  September.  It  was  a 
very  honest  and  straightforward  act ;  and  it  is  one 
which  I  now  look  back  upon  with  the  greatest  satis- 
faction. But  what  a  cruel  severance.  It  was  upon 
my  mother's  account  that  I  suffered  the  most.  I 
was  compelled  to  inflict  a  deep  wound  upon  her 
without  being  able  to  give  the  slightest  explanation. 
Although  gifted  with  much  native  intelligence,  she 
was  not  sufficiently  educated  to  understand  that  a 
person's  religious  faith  can  be  affected  because  he 


THE   ST,  SULPICE   SEMINARY,  2/5 

has  discovered  that  the  Messianic  explanations  of 
the  Psalms  are  erroneous,  and  that  Gesenius,  in  his 
commentary  upon  Isaiah,  is  in  nearly  every  point 
right  when  combating  the  arguments  of  the  ortho- 
dox. It  grieved  me  much,  also,  to  give  pain  to  my 
old  Brittany  masters,  who  retained  such  kindly  feel- 
ings toward  me.  The  critical  question,  as  it  pre- 
sented itself  to  my  mind,  would  have  seemed 
absolutely  unintelligible  to  them,  so  plain  and  un- 
questioning was  their  faith.  I  went  back  to  Paris, 
therefore,  without  letting  them  know  anything  more 
than  that  I  was  likely  to  travel,  and  that  my  eccle- 
siastical studies  might  possibly  be  suspended. 

The  masters  of  St.  Sulpice,  accustomed  to  take  a 
broader  view  of  things,  were  not  very  much  surprised. 
M.  Le  Hir,  who  placed  an  unlimited  confidence  in 
study,  and  who  also  knew  how  steady  my  conduct 
was,  did  not  dissuade  me  from  devoting  a  few  years 
I  to  free  study  in  Paris,  and  sketched  out  the  course 
which  I  was  to  follow  at  the  College  de  France  and 
at  the  School  of  Eastern  Languages.  M.  Carbon  was 
grieved ;  he  saw  how  different  my  position  must  be- 
come, and  he  promised  to  try  and  find  me  a  quiet  and 
honorable  position.  M.  Dupanloup  ''^  displayed  in 
this  matter   the    high    and    hearty   appreciation    of 

*  M.  Dupanloup  was  no  longer  superior  of  the  petty  seminary  of 
Saint  Nicholas  du  Chardonnet. 


2/6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

spiritual  things  which  constituted  his  superiority.  I 
spoke  very  frankly  to  him.  The  critical  side  of  the 
question  did  not  in  any  way  impress  him,  and  my 
allusion  to  German  criticism  took  him  by  surprise. 
The  labors  of  M.  Le  Hir  were  almost  unknown  to 
him.  Scripture  in  his  eyes  was  only  useful  in  sup- 
plying preachers  with  eloquent  passages,  and  Hebrew 
was  of  no  use  for  that  purpose.  But  how  kind  and 
generous-hearted  he  was !  I  have  now  before  me  a 
short  note  from  him,  in  which  he  says :  ^^  Do  you 
want  any  money  ?  This  would  be  natural  enough 
in  your  position.  My  humble  purse  is  at  your  ser- 
vice. I  should  like  to  be  able  to  offer  you  more 
precious  gifts.  I  hope  that  my  plain  and  simple 
offer  will  not  offend  you."  I  declined  his  kind  offer 
with  thanks,  but  there  was  no  merit  in  my  refusal, 
for  my  sister  Henriette  had  sent  me  twelve  hundred 
francs  to  tide  over  this  crisis.  I  scarcely  touched 
this  sum,  but  nevertheless,  by  relieving  me  of  any 
immediate  apprehension  for  the  morrow,  it  was  the 
foundation  of  the  independence  and  of  the  dignity 
of  my  whole  life. 

Thus,  on  the  6th  of  October,  1845,  I  went  down, 
never  again  to  remount  them  in  priestly  dress,  the 
steps  of  the  St.  Sulpice  seminary.  I  crossed  the  court- 
yard as  quickly  as  I  could,  and  went  to  the  hotel  which 
then  stood  at  the  north-west  corner  of  the  espla- 
nade, not  at  that  time  thrown  open,  as  it  is  now. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST.  SULPICE. 

PART   I. 

The  name  of  this  hotel  I  do  not  remember  ;  it  was 
always  spoken  of  as  "  Mademoiselle  Celeste's,"  this 
being  the  name  of  the  worthy  person  who  managed 
or  owned  it. 

There  was  certainly  no  other  hotel  like  it  in  Paris, 
for  it  was  a  kind  of  annex  to  the  seminary,  the  rules 
of  which  were  to  a  great  extent  in  force  there. 
Lodgers  were  not  admitted  without  a  letter  of  in- 
troduction from  one  of  the  directors  of  the  seminary 
or  some  other  notability  in  the  religious  world.  It 
was  here  that  students  who  wished  for  a  few  days  to 
themselves  before  entering  or  leaving  the  seminary 
used  to  stay,  while  priests  and  superiors  of  convents 
whom  business  brought  to  Paris  found  it  comfortable 
and  inexpensive.  The  transition  from  the  priestly  to 
the  ordinary  dress  is  like  the  change  which  occurs 
in  a  chrysalis ;  it  needs  a  little  shade.  Assuredly, 
if  any  one  could  narrate  all  the  silent  and  unobtru- 
sive romances  associated  with  this  ancient  hotel,  now 

pulled  down,  we  should  hear  some  very  interesting 

277 


2/8  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

stories.  I  must  not,  however,  let  my  meaning  be 
mistaken,  for,  like  many  ecclesiastics  still  alive,  I  can 
testify  to  the  blameless  course  of  life  in  Mile. 
Cdeste's  hotel. 

While  I  was  awaiting  here  the  completion  of  my 
metamorphosis,  M.  Carbon's  good  offices  were  being 
busily  employed  upon  my  behalf.  He  had  written 
to  Abbe  Gratry,  at  that  time  director  of  the  College 
Stanislas,  and  the  latter  offered  me  a  place  as  usher 
in  the  upper  division.  M.  Dupanloup  advised  me  to 
accept  it,  remarking :  "  You  may  rest  assured  that 
M.  Gratry  is  a  priest  of  the  highest  distinction.'*  I 
accepted,  and  was  very  kindly  treated  by  every  one, 
but  I  did  not  retain  the  place  more  than  a  fortnight. 
I  found  that  my  new  situation  involved  my  making 
the  outward  profession  of  clericalism,  the  avoidance 
of  which  was  my  reason  for  leaving  the  seminary. 
Thus  my  relations  with  M.  Gratry  were  but  fleeting. 
He  was  a  kind-hearted  man,  and  a  rather  clever 
WTiter,  but  there  was  nothing  in  him.  His  indecision 
of  mind  did  not  suit  me  at  all.  M.  Carbon  and  M. 
Dupanloup  had  told  him  why  I  had  left  St.  Sulpice. 
We  had  two  or  three  conversations,  in  the  course 
of  which  I  explained  to  him  my  doubts,  based  upon 
an  examination  of  the  texts.  He  did  not  in  the  least 
understand  me,  and  with  his  transcendentalism  he 
must  have  looked  upon  my  rigid  attention  to  details 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.   SULPICE,  279 

as  very  commonplace.  He  knew  nothing  of  eccle- 
siastical science,  whether  exegesis  or  theology ;  his 
capabilities  not  extending  beyond  hollow  phrases, 
trifling  applications  of  mathematics,  and  the  region 
of  ^'  matter  of  fact."  I  was  not  slow  to  perceive  how 
immensely  superior  the  theology  of  St.  Sulpice  was 
to  these  hollow  combinations  which  would  fain  pass 
muster  as  scientific.  St.  Sulpice  has  a  knowledge 
at  first  hand  of  what  Christianity  is  ;  the  Polytechnic 
School  has  not.  But,  I  repeat,  there  could  be  no  two 
opinions  as  to  the  uprightness  of  M.  Gratry,  who  was 
a  very  taking  and  high-minded  man. 

I  was  sorry  to  part  company  with  him  ;  but  there 
was  no  help  for  it.  I  had  left  the  first  seminary 
in  the  world  for  one  in  every  respect  inferior  to  it. 
The  leg  had  been  badly  set ;  I  had  the  courage  to 
break  it  a  second  time.  On  the  2d  or  3d  of  Novem- 
ber, I  passed  from  out  the  last  threshold  apper- 
taining to  the  Church,  and  I  obtained  a  place  as 
"assistant  master  au  pair'' — to  employ  the  phrase 
used  in  the  Quartier  Latin  of  those  days — without 
salary,  in  a  school  of  the  St.  Jacques  district  attached 
to  the  Lycee  Henri  IV.  I  had  a  small  bedroom,  and 
took  my  meals  with  the  scholars,  and  as  my  time  was 
not  occupied  for  more  than  two  hours  a  day,  I  was 
able  to  do  a  good  deal  of  work  upon  my  own  account. 
This  was  just  what  I  wanted. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST.  SULPICE. 

PART   II. 

Constituted  as  I  am  to  find  my  own  company 
quite  sufficent,  the  humble  dwelHng  in  the  Rue  des 
Deux  Eglises  (now  the  Rue  de  TAbbe  de  I'Epee) 
would  have  been  a  paradise  for  me  had  it  not  been 
for  the  terrible  crisis  which  my  conscience  was  pass- 
ing through,  and  the  altered  direction  which  I  was 
compelled  to  give  to  my  existence.  The  fish  in 
Lake  Baikal  have,  it  is  said,  taken  thousands  of  years 
in  their  transformation  from  salt  to  fresh  water  fish. 
I  had  to  effect  my  transition  in  a  few  weeks.  Catho- 
licism, like  a  fairy  circle,  casts  such  a  powerful  spell 
upon  one's  whole  life,  that  when  one  is  deprived  of 
it  everything  seems  aimless  and  gloomy.  I  felt  terri- 
bly out  of  my  element.  The  whole  universe  seemed 
to  me  like  an  arid  and  chilly  desert.  With  Chris- 
tianity untrue,  everything  else  appeared  to  be  in- 
different, frivolous,  and  undeserving  of  interest. 
The  shattering  of  my  career  left  me  with  a  sense  of 
aching  void,  like  what  may  be  felt  by  one  who  has 
had  an  attack  of  fever  or  a  blighted  affection.  The 
280 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.  SULPICE.  28 1 

struggle  which  had  engrossed  my  whole  soul  had 
been  so  ardent  that  all  the  rest  appeared  to  me 
petty  and  frivolous.  The  world  discovered  itself  to 
me  as  mean  and  deficient  in  virtue.  I  seemed  to 
have  lost  casle,  and  to  have  fallen  upon  a  nest  of 
pigmies. 

My  sorrow  was  much  increased  by  the  grief  which 
I  had  been  compelled  to  inflict  upon  my  mother.  I 
resorted,  perhaps  wrongly,  to  certain  artifices  with 
the  view,  as  I  hoped,  of  sparing  her  pain.  Her  let- 
ters went  to  my  heart.  She  supposed  my  position 
to  be  even  more  painful  than  it  was  in  reality,  and 
as  she  had,  despite  our  poverty,  rather  spoilt  me,  she 
thought  that  I  should  never  be  able  to  withstand 
any  hardship.  ''  When  I  remember  how  a  poor  little 
mouse  kept  you  from  sleeping,  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know 
how  you  will  get  on,"  she  wrote  to  me.  She  passed 
her  time  singing  the  Marseilles  hymns,"  of  which  she 
was  so  fond,  especially  the  hymn  of  Joseph,  begin- 
ning— 

*'  O  Joseph,  6  mon  aimable 
Fils  affable." 

When  she  wrote  to  me  in  this  strain,  my  heart  was 
fit  to  break.    As  a  child,  I  was  in  the  habit  of  asking 

*  A  collection  of  hymns  of  the  sixteenth  century,  touching  in  their 
simplicity.  I  have  my  mother's  old  copy  ;  I  may  perhaps  write 
something  about  them  hereafter. 


282  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

her  ten  times  over  in  the  course  of  the  day — 
**  Mother,  have  I  been  good  ?  "  The  idea  of  a  rupt- 
ure between  us  was  most  cruel.  I  accordingly  re- 
sorted to  various  devices  in  order  to  prove  to  her 
that  I  was  still  the  same  tender  son  that  I  had  been 
in  the  past.  In  time  the  wound  healed,  and  when  she 
saw  that  I  was  as  tender  and  loving  toward  her  as 
ever,  she  readily  agreed  that  there  might  be  more 
than  one  way  of  being  a  priest,  and  that  nothing  was 
changed  in  me  except  the  dress,  which  was  the  lit- 
eral truth. 

My  ignorance  of  the  world  was  thorough-paced. 
I  knew  nothing  except  of  literary  matters,  and  as 
my  only  real  knowledge  was  that  which  I  gained  at 
St.  Sulpice,  I  have  always  been  like  a  child  in  all 
worldly  matters.  I  did  not  therefore  make  any  effort 
to  render  my  material  position  as  good  as  the  cir- 
cumstances admitted.  The  one  object  of  life  seemed 
to  me  to  be  thought.  The  educational  profession 
being  the  one  which  comes  nearest  to  the  clerical 
one,  I  selected  it  almost  without  reflection.  It  was 
hard,  no  doubt,  after  having  reached  the  maximum 
of  intellectual  culture,  and  having  held  a  post  of 
some  honor,  to  descend  to  the  lowest  rank.  I  was 
better  versed  than  any  living  Frenchman,  with  the 
exception  of  M.  Le  Hir,  in  the  comparative  theory 
of  the  Semitic  languages,  and  my  position  was  no 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST,  SULPICE.        283 

better  than  that  of  an  under-master  ;  I  was  a  savant, 
and  I  had  not  taken  a  degree.     But  the  inward  con- 
tentment of  my  own  conscience  was  enough  for  me. 
I  never  felt  a  shadow  of  regret  at  the  decision  which^ 
I  had  come  to  in  October,  1845. 

I  had  my  reward,  moreover,  the  day  after  I  en- 
tered the  humble  school  in  which  I  was  to  occupy 
for  three  years  and  a-half  such  a  lowly  position. 
Among  the  pupils  was  one  who,  owing  to  his  suc- 
cesses and  rapid  progress,  held  a  place  of  his  own  in 
the  school.  He  was  eighteen  years  old,  and  even  at 
that  early  age  the  philosophical  spirit,  the  concen- 
trated ardor,  the  passionate  love  of  truth,  and  the 
inventive  sagacity  which  have  since  made  his  name 
celebrated  were  apparent  to  those  who  knew  him.  I 
refer  to  M.  Bertheldt,  whose  room  was  next  to  mine. 
From  the  day  that  we  knew  each  other,  we  became 
fast  friends.  Our  eagerness  to  learn  was  equally 
great,  and  we  had  both  had  very  different  kinds  of 
culture.  We  accordingly  threw  all  that  we  knew 
into  the  same  seething  caldron  which  served  to  boil 
joints  of  very  different  kinds.  Berthelot  taught  me 
what  was  not  to  be  learnt  in  the  seminary,  while  I 
taught  him  theology  and  Hebrew.  Berthelot  pur- 
chased a  Hebrew  Bible,  which,  I  believe,  is  still  in 
his  library  with  its  leaves  uncut.  He  did  not  get 
much  beyond  the  Shevas,  the  counter  attractions  of 


284  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

the  laboratory  being  too  great.  Our  mutual  honesty 
and  straightforwardness  brought  us  closer  together. 
Berthelot  introduced  me  to  his  father,  one  of  those 
gifted  doctors  such  as  may  be  found  in  Paris.  The 
father  was  a  Gallican  of  the  old  school,  and  very  ad- 
vanced in  his  political  views.  He  was  the  first  Re- 
publican I  had  ever  seen,  and  it  took  me  some  time 
to  familiarize  myself  with  the  idea.  But  he  was 
something  more  than  that :  he  was  a  model  of 
charity  and  self-devotion.  He  assured  the  scientific 
career  of  his  son  by  enabling  him  to  devote  himself 
up  to  the  age  of  thirty  to  his  speculative  researches 
without  having  to  obtain  any  remunerative  post 
which  would  have  interfered  with  his  studies.  In 
politics,  Berthelot  remained  true  to  the  principles  of 
his  father.  This  is  the  only  point  upon  which  we 
have  not  always  been  agreed.  For  my  part  I  should 
willingly  resign  myself,  if  the  opportunity  arose  (I 
must  say  that  it  seems  to  grow  more  distant  every 
day),  to  serve,  for  the  greater  good  of  humanity  now 
so  sadly  out  of  gear,  a  tyrant  who  was  philanthropic, 
well-instructed,  intelligent,  and  liberal. 

Our  discussions  were  interminable,  and  we  were 
always  resuming  the  same  subject.  We  passed  part 
of  the  night  in  searching  out  together  the  topics 
upon  which  we  were  engaged.  After  some  little 
time,  M.    Berthelot,  having   completed   his  special 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST,   SULPICE.         28$ 

mathematical  studies  at  the  Lycee  Henri  IV.,  went 
back  to  his  father,  who  Hved  at  the  foot  of  the  Tour 
Saint  Jacques  de  la  Boucherie.  When  he  came  to 
see  me  in  the  evening  at  the  Rue  de  I'Abbe  de  TEpee, 
we  used  to  converse  for  hours,  and  then  I  used  to 
walk  back  with  him  to  the  Tour  Saint  Jacques.  But 
as  our  conversation  was  rarely  concluded  when  we 
got  back  to  his  door,  he  returned  with  me  and  then 
I  went  back  with  him,  this  game  of  battledore  and 
shuttlecock  being  renewed  several  times.  Social  and 
philosophical  questions  must  be  very  hard  to  solve, 
seeing  that  we  could  not  with  all  our  energy  settle 
them.  The  crisis  of  1848  had  a  very  great  effect 
upon  us.  This  fateful  year  was  not  more  successful 
than  we  had  been  in  solving  the  problems  which  it 
had  set  itself,  but  it  demonstrated  the  fragility  of 
many  things  which  were  supposed  to  be  solid,  and 
to  young  and  active  minds  it  seemed  like  the  lower- 
ing of  a  curtain  of  clouds  upon  the  horizon. 

The  profound  affection  which  thus  bound  M.  Ber- 
thelot  and  myself  together  was  unquestionably  of  a 
very  rare  and  singular  kind.  It  so  happened  that  we 
were  both  of  an  essentially  objective  nature ;  a  nat- 
ure, that  is  to  say,  perfectly  free  from  the  narrow 
whirlwind  which  converts  most  consciences  into  an 
egotistical  gulf  like  the  conical  cavity  of  the  formica- 
leo.     Accustomed  each  to  pay  very  little  attention 


286  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTI^, 

to  himself,  we  paid  very  little  attention  to  one 
another.  Our  friendship  consisted  in  what  we  mut- 
.  ually  learnt,  in  a  sort  of  common  fermentation 
which  a  remarkable  conformity  of  intellectual  or- 
ganization produced  in  us  in  regard  to  the  same 
objects.  Anything  which  we  had  both  seen  in  the 
same  light  seemed  to  us  a  certainty.  When  we  first 
became  acquainted,  I  still  retained  a  tender  attach- 
ment for  Christianity.  Berthelot  also  inherited  from 
his  father  a  remnant  of  Christian  belief.  A  few 
months  sufficed  to  relegate  these  vestiges  of  faith  to 
that  part  of  our  souls  reserved  for  memory.  The 
statement  that  everything  in  the  world  is  of  the  same 
color,  that  there  is  no  special  supernatural  or  mo- 
mentary revelation,  impressed  itself  upon  our  minds 
as  unanswerable.  The  scientific  purview  of  a  uni- 
verse in  which  there  is  no  appreciable  trace  of  any 
free  will  superior  to  that  of  man  became,  from  the 
first  months  of  1846,  the  immovable  anchor  from 
which  we  never  shifted.  We  shall  never  move  from 
this  position  until  we  shall  have  encountered  in  nat- 
ure some  one  specially  intentional  fact  having  its 
cause  outside  the  free  will  of  man  or  the  spontane- 
ous action  of  the  animal. 

Thus  our  friendship  was  somewhat  analogous  to 
that  of  two  eyes  when  they  look  steadily  at  the  same 
object,  and  when  from  two  images  the  brain  receives 


FIRST  STEPS   QUTSIDE   ST.  SULPICE,  28/ 

one  and  the  same  perception.  Our  intellectual  growth 
was  like  the  phenomenon  which  occurs  through  a 
sort  of  action  due  to  close  contact  and  to  passive 
complicity.  M.  Berthelot  looked  as  favorably  upon 
what  I  did  as  myself  ;  I  liked  his  ways  as  much  as 
he  could  have  done  himself.  There  was  never  so 
much  as  a  trivial  vulgarity — I  will  not  say  a  moral 
slackening  of  affection — between  us.  We  were  in- 
variably upon  the  same  terms  with  each  other  that 
people  are  with  a  woman  for  whom  they  feel  respect. 
When  I  want  to  typify  what  an  unexampled  pair  of 
friends  we  were,  I  always  represent  two  priests  in 
their  surplices  walking  arm  in  arm.  This  dress  does 
not  debar  them  from  discussing  elevated  subjects; 
but  it  would  never  occur  to  them  in  such  a  dress  to 
smoke  a  cigar,  to  talk  about  trifles,  or  to  satisfy  the 
most  legitimate  requirements  of  the  body.  Flau- 
bert, the  novelist,  could  never  understand  that,  as 
Sainte-Beuve  relates,  the  recluses  of  Port  Royal  lived 
for  years  in  the  same  house  and  addressed  each 
other  as  Monsieur  to  the  day  of  their  death.  The 
fact  of  the  matter  is  that  Flaubert  had  no  sort  of 
idea  as  to  what  abstract  natures  are.  Not  only  did 
nothing  approaching  to  familiarity  ever  pass  between 
us,  but  we  should  have  hesitated  to  ask  each  other 
for  help,  or  almost  for  advice.  To  ask  a  service 
would,  in  our  view,  be  an  act  of  corruption,  an  in- 


288  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

justice  toward  the  rest  of  the  human  race  ;  it  would, 
at  all  events,  be  tantamount  to  acknowledging  that 
there  was  something  to  which  we  attached  a  value. 
But  we  are  so  well  aware  that  the  temporal  order  of 
things  is  vain,  empty,  hollow,  and  frivolous,  that  we 
hesitate  at  giving  a  tangible  shape  even  to  friend- 
ship. We  have  too  much  regard  for  each  other  to 
be  guilty  of  a  weakness  toward  each  other.  Both 
alike  convinced  of  the  insignificance  of  human  affairs, 
and  possessed  of  the  same  aspirations  for  what  is 
eternal,  we  could  not  bring  ourselves  to  admit  hav- 
ing of  a  set  purpose  concentrated  our  thoughts  upon 
what  is  casual  and  accidental.  For  there  can  be  no 
doubt  that  ordinary  friendship  presupposes  the  con- 
viction that  all  things  are  not  vain  and  empty. 

Later  in  life,  an  intimacy  of  this  kind  may  at  times 
cease  to  be  felt  as  a  necessity.  It  recovers  all  its 
force  whenever  the  globe  of  this  world,  which  is 
ever  changing,  brings  round  some  new  aspect  with 
regard  to  which  we  want  to  consult  each  other. 
Whichever  of  us  dies  first  will  leave  a  great  void  in 
the  existence  of  the  other.  Our  friendship  reminds 
me  of  that  of  Francois  de  Sales  and  President  Fa- 
vre :  "They  pass  away^  these  years  of  time,  my 
brother,  their  months  are  reduced  to  weeks,  their 
weeks  to  days,  their  days  to  hours,  and  their  hours 
to   moments,   which   latter   alone   we   possess,  and 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.   SULPICE,         289 

these  only  as  they  fleet."  The  conviction  of  the 
existence  of  an  eternal  object  embraced  in  youth, 
gives  a  peculiar  stability  to  life.  All  this  is  anything 
but  human  or  natural,  you  may  say  !  No  c^oubt,  but 
strength  is  only  manifested  by  running  counter  to 
nature.  The  natural  tree  does  not  bear  good  fruit. 
The  fruit  is  not  good  until  the  tree  is  trained ;  that 
is  to  say,  until  it  has  ceased  to  be  a  tree. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST.  SULPICE. 

PART  III. 

The  friendship  of  M.  Berthelot,  and  the  approba- 
tion of  my  sister,  were  my  two  chief  consolations 
during  this  painful  period,  when  the  sentiment  of  an 
abstract  duty  toward  truth  compelled  me  at  the  age 
of  three  and  twenty  to  alter  the  course  of  a  career 
already  fairly  entered  upon.  The  change  was,  in 
reality,  only  one  of  domicile  and  outward  surround- 
ings. At  bottom  I  remained  the  same ;  the  moral 
course  of  my  life  was  scarcely  affected  by  this  trial ; 
the  craving  for  truth,  which  was  the  mainspring  of 
my  existence,  knew  no  diminution.  My  habits  and 
ways  were  but  very  little  modified. 

St.  Sulpice,  in  truth,  had  left  its  impress  so  deeply 
upon  me,  that  for  years  I  remained  a  St.  Sulpice 
man,  i^ot  in  regard  to  faith  but  in  habit.  The  excel- 
lent education  imparted  there,  which  had  exhibited 
to  me  the  perfection  of  politeness  in  M.  Gosselin, 
the  perfection  of  kindness  in  M.  Carbon,  the  perfec- 
tion of  virtue  in  M.  Pinault,  M.  Le  Hir  and  M. 
Gottefrey,   made  an  indelible  impression  upon  my 

docile  nature.   My  studies,  prosecuted  without  inter- 
290 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.  SC/LFICE.         29 1 

ruption  after  I  had  left  the  seminary,  so  completely 
confirmed  me  in  my  presumptions  against  orthodox 
theology,  that  at  the  end  of  a  twelvemonth,  I  could 
scarcely  understand  how  I  had  formerly  been  able 
to  believe.  But  when  faith  has  disappeared,  moral- 
ity remains  ;  for  a  long  time,  my  programme  was  to 
abandon  as  little  as  possible  of  Christianity,  and  to 
hold  on  to  all  that  could  be  maintained  without 
belief  in  the  supernatural.  I  sorted,  so  to  speak, 
the  virtues  of  the  St.  Sulpice  student,  discarding 
those  which  appertain  to  a  positive  belief,  and  re- 
taining those  of  which  a  philosopher  can  approve. 
Such  is  the  force  of  habit.  The  void  sometimes  has 
the  same  effect  as  its  opposite.  Es^  pro  corde  locus. 
The  fowl  whose  brain  has  been  removed  will,  never- 
theless, under  the  influence  of  certain  stimulants, 
continue  to  scratch  its  beak. 

I  endeavored,  therefore,  on  leaving  St.  Sulpice  to 
remain  as  much  of  a  St.  Sulpice  man  as  possible. 
The  studies  which  I  had  begun  at  the  seminary  had 
so  engrossed  m^e,  that  my  one  desire  was  to  resume 
them.  One  only  occupation  seemed  worthy  to  ab- 
sorb my  life ;  and  that  was  the  pursuit  of  my 
critical  researches  upon  Christianity  by  the  much 
larger  means  which  lay  science  offered  me.  I  also 
imagined  myself  to  be  in  the  company  of  my  teach- 
ers, discussing  objections  with  them,  and  proving  to 


292  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOU  TIL 

them   that    whole  pages   of   ecclesiastical    teaching 
require  alteration. 

For  some  little  time,  I  kept  up  my  relations  with 
them,  notably  with  M.  Le  Hir,  but  I  gradually  came 
to  feel  that  relations  of  this  kind,  between  the  be- 
liever and  the  unbeliever,  grow  strained,  and  I  broke 
off  an  intimacy  which  could  be  profitable  and 
pleasant  to  myself  alone. 

In  respect  to  matters  of  critique,  I  also  held  my 
ground  as  closely  as  I  possibly  co.uld,  and  thus  it 
comes  that,  while  being  unrestrictedly  rationalist,  I 
have  none  the  less  seemed  a  thorough  conservative 
in  the  discussions  relating  to  the  age  and  authenticity 
of  Holy  Writ.  The  first  edition  of  my  Histoire 
Gdndrale  dcs  Langues  S^mitiques,  for  instance,  con- 
tains, so  far  as  regards  the  book  of  Ecclesiastes  and 
the  Song  of  Solomon,  several  concessions  to  tradi- 
tional opinions  which  I  have  since  eliminated  one 
after  the  other.  In  my  Origmes  du  Christianisme, 
upon  the  other  hand,  this  reserved  attitude  has 
stood  me  in  good  stead,  for  m  writing  this  essay,  I 
had  to  face  a  very  exaggerated  school — that  of  the 
Tubingen  Protestants — composed  of  men  devoid  of 
literary  tact  and  moderation,  by  whom,  through  the 
fault  of  the  Catholics,  researches  as  to  Jesus  and  the 
apostolic  age  have  been  almost  entirely  monopolized. 
When  a  reaction  sets  in  against  this  school,  it  will 


FIRST   STEPS   OUTSIDE    ST.    SULPICE,         293 

be  recognized  perhaps  that  my  critique,  Catholic  in 
its  origin,  and  by  degrees  freed  from  the  shackles  of 
tradition,  has  enabled  me  to  see  many  things  in  their 
true  light,  and  has  preserved  me  from  more  than 
one  mistake. 

But  it  is  in  regard  to  my  temperament,  more 
especially,  that  I  have  remained  in  reality  the  pupil 
of  my  old  masters.  My  life,  when  I  pass  it  in  re- 
view, has  been  one  long  application  of  their  good 
qualities  and  their  defects ;  with  this  difference,  that 
these  qualities  and  defects,  having  been  transferred 
to  the  world's  stage,  have  brought  out  inconsistencies 
more  strongly  marked.  All's  well  that  ends  well, 
and  as  my  existence  has,  upon  the  whole,  been  a 
pleasant  one,  I  often  amuse  myself,  like  Marcus 
Aurelius,  by  calculating  how  much  I  owe  to  the 
various  influences  which  have  traversed  my  life,  and 
woven  the  tissue  of  it.  In  these  calculations,  St. 
wSulpice  always  comes  out  as  the  principal  factor.  I 
can  venture  to  speak  very  freely  on  this  point,  for 
little  of  the  credit  is  due  to  me.  I  was  well  trained, 
and  that  is  the  secret  of  the  whole  matter.  My 
amiability,  which  is  in  many  cases  the  result  of  in- 
difference ;  my  indulgency,  which  is  sincere  enough, 
and  is  due  to  the  fact  that  I  see  clearly  how  unjust 
men  are  to  one  another ;  my  conscientious  habits, 
which    afford    me   real    pleasure,    and    my    infinite 


294  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

capacity  for  enduring  ennui,  attributable  perhaps  to 
my  having  been  so  well  inoculated  by  ennui  during 
my  youth  that  it  has  never  taken  since,  are  all  to  be 
explained  by  the  circle  in  which  I  lived,  and  the 
profound  impressions  which  I  received.  Since  I  left 
St.  Sulpice,  I  have  been  constantly  losing  ground, 
and  yet,  with  only  a  quarter  the  virtues  of  a  St.  Sul- 
pice man,  I  have,  I  think,  been  far  above  the  average. 
I  should  like  to  explain  in  detail  and  show  how 
the  paradoxical  resolve  to  hold  fast  to  the  clerical 
virtues,  without  the  faith  upon  which  they  are  based, 
and  in  a  world  for  which  they  are  not  designed,  pro- 
duced, so  far  as  I  was  concerned,  the  most  amusing 
encounters.  I  should  like  to  relate  all  the  advent- 
ures which  my  Sulpician  habits  brought  about,  and 
the  singular  tricks  which  they  played  me.  After 
leading  a  serious  life  for  sixty  years,  mirth  is  no 
offence,  and  what  source  of  merriment  can  be  more 
abundant,  more  harmless,  and  more  ready  to  hand 
than  oneself?  If  a  comedy  writer  should  ever  be 
inclined  to  amuse  the  public  by  depicting  my  foibles 
I  would  readily  give  my  assent  if  he  agreed  to  let 
me  join  him  in  the  work,  as  I  could  relate  things  far 
more  amusing  than  any  which  he  could  invent.  But 
I  find  that  I  am  transgressing  the  first  rule  which 
my  excellent  masters  laid  down,  viz.,  never  to  speak 
of  oneself.  I  will  therefore  treat  this  latter  part  of 
my  subject  very  briefly.    . 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST.  SULPICE. 

PART   IV. 

The  moral  teaching  inculcated  by  the  pious 
masters  who  watched  over  me  so  tenderly  up  to  the 
age  of  three-and-twenty  may  be  summed  up  in  the 
four  virtues  of  disinterestedness  or  poverty,  modesty, 
politeness,  and  strict  morality.  I  propose  to  analyze 
my  conduct  under  these  four  heads,  not  in  any  way 
with  the  intention  of  advertising  my  own  merits,  but 
in  order  to  give  those  who  profess  the  philosophy  of 
good-natured  skepticism  an  opportunity  of  exercis- 
ing their  powers  of  observation  at  my  expense. 

I.  Poverty  is  of  all  the  clerical  virtues  the  one 
which  I  have  practised  the  most  faithfully.  M.  Olier 
had  painted  for  his  church  a  picture  in  which  St. 
Sulpice  was  represented  as  laying  down  the  funda- 
mental rule  of  life  for  his  clerks :  Habentes  aliment  a 
et  quibus  tcgamur,  his  coiitenti  stwnis.  This  was  just 
my  idea,  and  I  could  desire  nothing  better  than  to 
be  provided  with  lodging,  board,  lights,  and  firing, 
without  any  intervention   of  my  own,  by  some   one 

who  would  charge  me  a  fixed  sum  and  leave  me  entirely 

29s 


2(p  RECOLLECTION S   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

my  own  master.  The  arrangement  which  dated 
from  my  settlement  in  the  Httle  pension  of  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Jacques  was  destined  to  become  the 
economic  basis  of  my  whole  life.  One  or  two 
private  lessons  which  I  gave  saved  me  from  the 
necessity  of  breaking  into  the  twelve  hundred  francs 
sent  me  by  my  sister.  This  was  just  the  rule  laid 
down  and  observed  by  my  masters  at  Tr^guier  and 
St.  Sulpice  :  Victu77i  vestitzim,  board  and  lodging  and 
ju«t  enough  money  to  buy  a  new  cassock  once  a 
year.  I  had  never  wished  for  anything  more  m}^- 
self.  The  modest  ccxnpetence  which  I  now  possess 
only  fell  to  my  share  later  in  life,  and  quite  inde- 
pendently of  my  own  volition.  I  look  upon  the 
world  at  large  as  belonging  to  me,  but  I  only  spend 
the  interest  of  my  capital.  I  shall  depart  this  life 
without  having  possessed  anything  save  "  that  which 
it  is  usual  to  consume/*  according  to  the  Franciscan 
code.  Whenever  I  have  been  tempted  to  buy  some 
small  plot  of  ground,  an  inward  voice  has  prevented 
me.  To  have  done  so  would  have  seemed  to  me 
gross,  material,  and  opposed  to  the  principle :  No7i 
habemiis  hie  manentem  civitatein.  Securities  are 
h'ghter,  more  ethereal,  and  more  fragile;  they  do 
not  exercise  the  same  amount  of  attachment,  and 
there  is  more  risk  of  losing  them. 

At  the  present  rate  this  is  a  bitter  contradiction, 


FIRST  STEPS   OUTSIDE   ST.   SULPICE,         297 

and  though  the  rule  which  I  have  followed  has 
given  me  happiness,  I  would  not  advise  any  one  to 
adopt  it.  I  am  too  old  to  change  now,  and  besides 
I  have  nothing  to  complain  of;  but  I  should  be 
afraid  of  misleading  young  people  if  I  told  them  to 
do  the  same.  To  get  the  most  one  can  out  of  one- 
self is  becoming  the  rule  of  the  world  at  large.  The 
idea  that  the  nobleman  is  the  man  v/ho  does  not 
make  money,  and  that  any  commercial  or  industrial 
pursuit,  no  matter  how  honest,  debases  the  person 
engaged  in  it,  and  prevents  him  from  belonging  to 
the  highest  circle  of  humanity  is  fast  fading  away. 
So  great  is  the  difference  which  an  interval  of  forty 
years  brings  about  in  human  affairs.  All  that  I 
once  did  now  appears  sheer  folly,  and  sometimes  in 
looking  around  me  I  fail  to  recognize  that  it  is  the 
same  world. 

The  man  whose  life  is  devoted  to  immaterial  pur- 
suits is  a  child  in  worldly  affairs ;  he  is  helpless 
without  a  guardian.  The  world  in  which  we  live  i3 
wide  enough  for  every  place  which  is  worth  taking  to 
be  occupied ;  every  post  to  be  held  creates,  so  to 
speak,  the  person  to  fill  it.  I  had  never  imagined  that 
the  product  of  my  thought  could  have  any  market 
value.  I  had  always  had  an  idea  of  writing,  but  it 
had  never  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  bring  me  in 
any  money.  I  was  greatly  astonished,  therefore,  when 
13* 


298  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

a  man  of  pleasant  and  intelligent  appearance  called 
upon  me  in  my  garret  one  day,  and,  after  compli- 
menting me  upon  several  articles  which  I  had  written, 
offered  to  published  them  in  a  collected  form.  A 
stamped  agreement  which  he  had  with  him  specified 
terms  which  seemed  to  me  so  wonderfully  liberal 
that  when  he  asked  me  if  all  my  future  writings 
should  be  included  in  the  agreement,  I  gave  my 
assent.  I  was  tempted  to  make  one  or  two  obser- 
vations, but  the  sight  of  the  stamp  stopped  me,  and 
I  was  unwiUing  that  so  fine  a  piece  of  paper  should 
be  wasted.  I  did  well  to  forego  them,  for  M.  Michel 
L^vy  must  have  been  created  by  a  special  decree  of 
Providence  to  be  my  editor.  A  man  of  letters  who 
has  any  self-respect  should  write  in  only  one  journal 
and  in  one  review,  and  should  have  only  one  pub- 
lisher. M.  Michel  Levy  and  myself  always  got  on 
very  well  together.  At  a  subsequent  date,  he 
pointed  out  to  me  that  the  agreement  which  he  had 
prepared  was  not  sufficiently  remunerative  for  me, 
and  he  substituted  for  it  one  much  more  to  my  ad- 
vantage. I  am  told  that  he  has  not  made  a  bad 
speculation  out  of  me.  I  am  delighted  to  hear  it. 
In  any  event,  I  may  safely  say  that  if  I  possessed  a 
fund  of  literary  wealth  it  was  only  fair  that  he  should 
have  a  large  share  of  it,  as  but  for  him  I  should  never 
have  suspected  its  existence. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST   SULPICE.         299 

II.  It  is  very  difficult  to  prove  that  one  is  modest, 
for  the  very  assertion  of  one's  modesty  destroys 
one's  claim  to  it.  As  I  have  said,  our  old  Christian 
teachers  had  an  excellent  rule  upon  this  score,  which 
was  never  to  speak  of  oneself  either  in  praise  or  de- 
preciation. This  is  the  true  principle,  but  the 
general  reader  will  not  have  it  so,  and  is  the  cause 
of  all  the  mischief.  He  leads  the  writer  to  commit 
faults  upon  which  he  is  afterward  very  hard,  just  as 
the  staid  middle  classes  of  another  age  applauded 
the  actor,  and  yet  excluded  him  from  the  Church. 
*^  Incur  your  own  damnation,  as  long  as  you  amuse 
us"  is  often  the  sentiment  which  lurks  beneath  the 
encouragement,  often  flattering  in  appearance,  of  the 
public.  Success  is  more  often  than  not  acquired  by 
our  defects.  When  I  am  very  well  pleased  with 
what  I  have  written,  I  have  perhaps  nine  or  ten  per- 
sons who  approve  of  what  I  have  said.  When  I 
cease  to  keep  a  strict  watch  upon  myself,  when  my 
literary  conscience  hesitates,  and  my  hand  shakes, 
thousands  are  anxious  for  me  to  go  on. 

But  notwithstanding  all  this,  and  making  due 
allowance  for  venial  faults,  I  may  safely  claim  that  I  • 
have  been  modest,  and  in  this  respect,  at  all  events, 
I  have  not  come  short  of  the  St.  Sulpice  standard. 
I  am  not  afflicted  with  literary  vanity.  I  do  not 
fall  into  the   error  which   distinguishes  the  literary 


300  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

views  of  our  day.  I  am  well  assured  that  no  really- 
great  man  has  ever  imagined  himself  to  be  one,  and 
that  those  who  during  their  lifetime  browse  upon 
their  glory  while  it  is  green,  do  not  garner  it  ripe 
after  their  death.  I  only  feigned  to  set  store  by 
literature  for  a  time  to  please  M.  Sainte-Beuve,  who 
had  great  influence  over  me.  Since  his  death,  I  have 
ceased  to  attach  any  value  to  it.  I  see  plainly 
enough  that  talent  is  only  prized  because  people  are 
so  childish.  If  the  public  were  wise,  they  would  be 
content  with  getting  the  truth.  What  they  like  is 
in  most  cases  imperfections.  My  adversaries,  in 
order  to  deny  me  the  possession  of  other  qualities 
which  interfere  with  their  apologeticum,  are  so  pro- 
fuse in  their  allowance  of  talent  to  me  that  I  need 
not  scruple  to  accept  an  encomium  which,  coming 
from  them,  is  a  criticism.  In  any  event,  I  have  never 
sought  to  gain  anything  by  the  display  of  this 
inferior  quality,  which  has  been  more  prejudicial  to 
me  as  a  savant  than  it  has  been  useful  of  itself.  I 
have  not  based  any  calculations  upon  it.  I  have 
never  counted  upon  my  supposed  talent  for  a  live- 
lihood, and  I  have  not  in  any  way  tried  to  turn  it  to 
account.  The  late  M.  Beule,  who  looked  upon  me 
with  a  kind  of  good-natured  curiosity  mingled  v/ith 
astonishment,  could  not  understand  why  I  made  so 
little  use  of  it.     I  have  never  been  at  all  a  literary 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.   SULPICE.       '  3OI 

man.  In  the  most  decisive  moments  of  my  life  I 
had  not  the  least  idea  that  my  prose  would  secure 
any  success. 

I  have  never  done  anything  to  foster  my  success, 
which,  if  I  may  be  permitted  to  say  so,  might  have 
been  much  greater  if  I  had  so  willed.  I  have  in  no 
wise  followed  up  my  good  fortune  ;  upon  the  con- 
trary I  have  rather  tried  to  check  it.  The  public 
likes  a  writer  who  sticks  closely  to  his  line,  and  who 
has  his  own  specialty ;  placing  but  little  confidence 
in  those  who  try  to  shine  in  contradictory  subjects. 
I  could  have  secured  an  immense  amount  of  popular- 
ity if  I  had  gone  in  for  a  crescendo  of  anti-clericalism 
after  the  Vie  de  Jesus,  The  general  reader  likes  a 
strong  style.  I  could  easily  have  left  in  the  flourishes 
and  tinsel  phrases  v/hich  excite  the  enthusiasm  of 
those  whose  taste  is  not  of  a  very  elevated  kind, 
that  is  to  say,  of  the  majority.  I  spent  a  year  in 
toning  down  the  style  of  the  Vie  de  Jesus,  as  I 
thought  that  such  a  subject  could  not  be  treated  too 
soberly  or  too  simply.  And  we  know  how  fond  the 
masses  are  of  declamation.  I  have  never  accentuated 
my  opinions  in  order  to  gain  the  ear  of  my  readers. 
It  is  no  fault  of  mine  if,  owing  to  the  bad  taste  of 
the  day,  a  slender  voice  has  made  itself  heard  athwart 
the  darkness  in  which  we  dwell,  as  if  reverberated 
by  a  thousand  echoes. 


302  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

III.  With  regard  to  my  politeness,  I  shall  find 
fewer  cavillers  than  with  regard  to  my  modesty,  for, 
so  far  as  mere  externals  go,  I  have  been  endowed 
with  much  more  of  the  former  than  of  the  latter. 
The  extreme  urbanity  of  my  old  masters  made  so 
great  an  impression  upon  me  that  I  have  never 
broken  away  from  it.  Theirs  was  the  true  French 
politeness  ;  that  which  is  shown  not  only  toward 
acquaintances  but  toward  all  persons  without  ex- 
ception."^ Politeness  of  this  kind  implies  a  general 
standard  of  conduct,  without  which  life  cannot,  as  I 
hold,  go  on  smoothly ;  viz.,  that  every  human  creat- 
ure should  be  given  credit  for  goodness,  failing  proof 
to  the  contrary,  and  treated  kindly.  Many  people, 
especially  in  certain  countries,  follow  the  opposite 
rule,  and  this  leads  to  great  injustice.  For  my  own 
part,  I  cannot  possibly  be  severe  upon  any  one  h 
priori,  I  take  for  granted  that  every  person  I  see 
for  the  first  time  is  a  man  of  merit  and  of  good 
repute,  reserving  to  myself  the  right  to  alter  my 
opinions  (as  I  often  have  to  do)  if  facts  compel  me 
to  do  so.  This  is  the  St.  Sulpice  rule,  which,  in  my 
contact  with  the  outside  world,  has  placed  me  in 
very  singular  positions,  and  has  often  made  me  ap- 
pear very  old-fashioned,  a  relic  of  the  past,  and  un- 

*  I  will  add  toward  animals  as  well.  I  could  not  possibly  behave' 
unkindly  to  a  dog,  or  treat  him  roughly,  and  with  an  air  of  authority. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.  SC/LFICE.         303 

familiar  with  the  age  in  which  we  Hve.  The  right 
way  to  behave  at  table  is  to  help  oneself  to  the  worst 
piece  in  the  dish,  so  as  to  avoid  the  semblance  of 
leaving  for  others  what  one  does  not  think  good 
enough — or,  better  still,  to  take  the  piece  nearest  to 
one  without  looking  at  what  is  in  the  dish.  Any 
one  who  was  to  act  in  this  delicate  way  in  the  strug- 
gle of  modern  life,  would  sacrifice  himself  to  no  pur- 
pose. His  delicacy  would  not  even  be  noticed. 
"  First  come,  first  served,"  is  the  objectionable  rule 
of  modern  egotism.  To  obey,  in  a  world  which  has 
ceased  to  have  any  heed  of  civility,  the  excellent 
rules  of  the  politeness  of  other  days,  would  be  tanta- 
mount to  playing  the  part  of  a  dupe,  and  no  one 
would  thank  you  for  your  pains.  When  one  feels 
oneself  being  pushed  by  people  who  want  to  get  in 
front  of  one,  the  proper  thing  to  do  is  to  draw  back 
with  a  gesture  tantamount  to  saying :  "  Do  not  let 
me  prevent  you  passing."  But  it  is  very  certain 
that  any  one  who  adhered  to  this  rule  in  an  omnibus 
would  be  the  victim  of  his  own  deference ;  in  fact,  I 
believe  that  he  would  be  infringing  the  bye-laws.  In 
traveling  by  rail,  how  few  people  seem  to  see  that  in 
trying  to  force  their  way  before  others  on  the  plat- 
form in  order  to  secure  the  best  seats,  they  are  guilty 
of  gross  discourtesy. 

In  other  words,  our  democratic  machines  have  no 


304  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

place  for  the  man  of  polite  rtianners.  I  have  long 
since  given  up  taking  the  omnibus ;  the  conductor 
came  to  look  upon  me  as  a  passenger  who  did  not 
know  what  he  was  about.  In  traveling  by  rail,  I  in- 
variably have  the  worst  seat,  unless  I  happen  to  get 
a  helping  hand  from  the  station-master.  I  was 
fashioned  for  a  society  based  upon  respect,  in  which 
people  could  be  treated,  classified,  and  placed  accord- 
ing to  their  costume,  and  in  which  they  would  not 
have  to  fight  for  their  own  hand.  I  am  only  at 
home  at  the  Institute  or  the  College  de  France,  and 
that  because  our  officials  are  all  well-conducted  men 
and  hold  us  in  great  respect.  The  Eastern  habit  of 
always  having  a  cavassto  walk  in  front  of  one  in  the 
public  thoroughfares  suited  me  very  well ;  for  mod- 
esty is  seasoned  by  a  display  of  force.  It  is  agree- 
able to  have  under  one's  orders  a  man  armed  with  a 
kourbash  which  one  does  not  allow  him  to  use.  I 
should  not  at  all  mind  having  the  power  of  life  and 
death  without  ever  exercising  it,  and  I  should  much 
like  to  own  some  slaves  in  order  to  be  extremely 
kind  to  them  and  to  make  them  adore  me. 

IV.  My  clerical  ideas  have  exercised  a  still  greater 
influence  over  me  in  all  that  relates  to  the  rules  of 
morality.  I  should  have  looked  upon  it  as  a  lack  of 
decorum  if  I  had  made  any  change  in  my  austere 
habits  upon  this  score.     The  v/orld  at   large,  in  its 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST   SULPICE.         305 

ignorance  of  spiritual  things,  believes  that  men  only 
abandon  the  ecclesiastical  calling  because  they  find 
its  duties  too  severe.  I  should  never  have  forgiven 
myself  if  I  had  done  anything  to  lend  even  a  sem- 
blance of  reason  to  views  so  superficial.  With  my 
extreme  conscientiousness  I  was  anxious  to  be  at 
rest  with  myself,  and  I  continued  to  live  in  Paris  the 
life  which  I  had  led  in  the  seminary.  As  time  went 
on,  I  recognized  that  this  virtue  was  as  vain  as  all 
the  others ;  and  more  especially  I  noted  that  nature 
does  not  in  the  least  encourage  man  to  be  chaste.  I 
none  the  less  persevered  in  the  mode  of  life  I  had 
selected,  and  I  deliberately  imposed  upon  myself  the 
morals  of  a  Protestant  clergyman.  A  man  should 
never  take  two  liberties  with  popular  prejudice  at 
the  same  time.  The  freethinker  should  be  very  par- 
ticular as  to  his  morals.  I  know  some  Protestant 
ministers,  very  broad  in  their  ideas,  whose  stiff  white 
ties  preserve  them  from  all  reproach.  In  the  same 
way  I  have,  thanks  to  a  moderate  style  and  blame- 
less morals,  secured  a  hearing  for  ideas  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  human  mediocrity,  are  advanced. 

The  worldly  views  in  regard  to  the  relations  be- 
tween the  sexes  are  as  peculiar  as  the  biddings  of 
nature  itself.  The  world,  whose  judgments  are 
rarely  altogether  wrong,  regards  it  as  more  or  less 
ridiculous  to  be  virtuous,  when  one  is  not  obliged  to 


306  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH, 

be  so  as  a  matter  of  professional  duty.  The  priest, 
whose  place  it  is  to  be  chaste  as  it  is  that  of  the  soldier 
to  be  brave,  is,  according  to  this  view,  almost  the 
only  person  who  can,  without  incurring  ridicule, 
stand  by  principles  over  which  morality  and  fashion 
are  so  often  at  variance.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that,  upon  this  point,  as  on  many  others,  adherence 
to  my  clerical  principles  has  been  injurious  to  me  in 
the  eyes  of  the  world.  These  principles  have  not 
affected  my  happiness.  Women  have,  as  a  rule,  un- 
derstood how  much  respect  and  sympathy  for  them 
my  affectionate  reserve  implied.  In  fine,  I  have 
been  beloved  by  the  four  women  whose  love  was  of 
the  most  comfort  to  me:  My  mother,  my  sister, 
my  wife  and  my  daughter.  I  have  had  the  better 
part,  and  it  will  not  be  taken  from  me,  for  I  often 
fancy  that  the  judgments  which  will  be  passed  upon 
us  in  the  valley  of  Jehosophat,  will  be  neither  more 
nor  less  than  those  of  women,  countersigned  by  the 
Almighty. 

Thus  it  may,  upon  the  whole,  be  said  that  I  have 
come  short  in  little  of  my  clerical  promises.  I  have 
exchanged  spirituality  for  ideality.  I  have  been 
truer  to  my  engagements  than  many  priests  appar- 
ently more  regular  in  their  conduct.  In  resolutely 
clinging  to  the  virtues  of  disinterestedness,  polite- 
ness, and  modesty  in  a  world  to  which  they  are  net 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST   SULPICE.         307 

applicable  I  have  shown  how  very  simple  I  am.  I  . 
have  never  courted  success  :  I  may  almost  say  that 
it  is  distasteful  to  me.  The  pleasure  of  living  and 
of  working  is  quite  enough  for  me.  Whatever  may 
be  egotistical  in  this  way  of  engaging  the  pleasure 
of  existence  is  neutralized  by  the  sacrifices  which  I 
believe  that  I  have  made  for  the  public  good.  I 
have  always  been  at  the  orders  of  my  country  ;  at 
the  first  sign  from  it,  in  1869,  I  placed  myself  at  its 
disposal.  I  might  perhaps  have  rendered  it  some  ser- 
vice ;  the  country  did  not  think  so,  but  I  have  done 
my  part.  I  have  never  flattered  the  errors  of  public 
opinion ;  and  I  have  been  so  careful  not  to  lose  a 
single  opportunity  of  pointing  out  these  errors,  that 
superficial  persons  have  regarded  me  as  wanting  in 
patriotism.  One  is  not  called  upon  to  descend  to 
charlatanism  or  falsehood  to  obtain  a  mandate,  the 
main  condition  of  w^hich  is  independence  and  sin- 
cerity. Amidst  the  public  misfortunes  which  may 
be  in  store  for  us,  my  conscience  will,  therefore,  be 
quite  at  rest. 

AH  things  considered,  I  should  not,  if  I  had  to 
begin  my  life  over  again,  with  the  right  of  making 
what  erasures  T  liked,  change  anything.  The  defects 
of  my  nature  and  education  have,  by  a  sort  of  benev- 
olent Providence,  been  so  attenuated  and  reduced  as 
to  be  of  very  little  moment.     A   certain  apparent 


308  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTIL 

lack  of  frankness  in  my  relations  with  them  is  for- 
given me  by  my  friends,  who  attribute  it  to  my 
clerical  education.  I  must  admit  that  in  the  early 
part  of  my  life  I  often  told  untruths,  not  in  my  own 
interest,  but  out  of  good-nature  and  indifference, 
upon  the  mistaken  idea  which  always  induces  me  to 
take  the  view  of  the  person  with  whom  I  may  be 
conversing.  My  sister  depicted  to  me  in  very  vivid 
colors  the  drawbacks  involved  in  acting  like  this, 
and  I  have  given  up  doing  so.  I  am  not  aware  of 
having  told  a  single  untruth  since  1851,  with  the  ex- 
ception, of  course,  of  the  harmless  stories  and  polite 
fibs  which  all  casuists  permit,  as  also  the  literary 
evasions  which,  in  the  interests  of  a  higher  truth, 
must  be  used  to  make  up  a  well-poised  phrase, 
or  to  avoid  a  still  greater  misfortune — that  of  stab- 
bing an  author.  Thus,  for  instance,  a  poet  brings 
you  some  verses.  You  must  say  that  they  are  ad- 
mirable, for  if  you  said  less  it  would  be  tantamount 
to  describing  them  as  worthless,  and  to  inflicting  a 
greivous  insult  upon  a  man  who  intended  to  show 
you  a  polite  attention. 

My  friends  may  have  well  found  it  much  more 
difficult  to  forgive  me  another  defect,  w^hich  consists 
in  being  rather  slow  not  to  show  them  affecticn  but 
to  render  them  assistance.  One  of  the  injunctions 
most  impressed  upon  us  at  the   seminary  was  to 


FIRST  STEPS   OUTSIDE    ST.   SUIPICE.         309 

avoid  '^  special  friendships."  Friendships  of  this 
kind  were  described  as  being  a  fraud  upon  the  rest 
of  the^community.  This  rule  has  always  remained 
indelibly  impressed  upon  my  mind.  I  have  never 
given  much  encouragement  to  friendship.  I  have 
done  little  for  my  friends,  and  they  have  done  little  for 
me.  One  of  the  ideas  which  I  have  so  often  to  cope 
with  is  that  friendship,  as  it  is  generally  understood, 
is  an  injustice  and  a  blunder,  which  only  allows  you 
to  distinguish  the  good  qualities  of  a  single  person, 
and  blinds  you  to  those  of  others  v/ho  are  perhaps 
more  deserving  of  your  sympathy.  I  fancy  to  myself 
at  times,  like  my  ancient  masters,  that  friendship  is 
a  larceny  committed  at  the  expense  of  society  at 
large,  and  that,  in  a  more  elevated  world,  friendship 
would  disappear.  In  some  cases,  it  has  seemed  to 
me  that  the  special  attachment  which  unites  two  in- 
dividuals is  a  slight  upon  good-fellowship  generally ; 
and  I  am  always  tempted  to  hold  aloof  from  them 
as  being  warped  in  their  judgment  and  devoid  of 
impartiality  and  liberty.  A  close  association  of  this 
kind  between  two  persons  must,  in  my  view,  narrow 
the  mind,  detract  from  anything  like  breadth  of 
view,  and  fetter  the  independence.  Beule  often  used 
to  banter  me  upon  this  score.  He  was  somewhat 
attached  to  me,  and  was  anxious  to  render  me  a  ser- 
vice, though  I  had  not  done  the  equivalent  for  him. 


3IO  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

Upon  a  certain  occasion  I  voted  against  him  in  favor 
of  some  one  who  had  been  very  ill-natured  toward 
me,  and  he  said  to  me  afterward :  *^  Renan,  I  shall 
play  some  mean  trick  upon  you  ;  out  of  impartiality 
you  will  vote  for  me." 

While  I  have  been  very  fond  of  my  friends,  I  have 
done  very  little  for  them.  I  have  been  as  much  at 
the  disposal  of  the  public  as  of  them.  This  is  why 
I  receive  so  many  letters  from  unknown  and  anony- 
mous correspondents;  and  this  is  also  why  I  am 
such  a  bad  correspondent.  It  has  often  happened 
to  me  while  writing  a  letter  to  break  off  suddenly 
and  convert  into  general  terms  the  ideas  which  have 
occurred  to  me.  The  best  of  my  life  has  been  lived 
for  the  public,  which  has  had  all  I  have  to  give. 
There  is  no  surprise  in  store  for  it  after  my  death, 
as  I  have  kept  nothing  back  from  anybody. 

Having  thus  given  my  preference  instinctively  to 
the  many  rather  than  to  the  few,  I  have  enjoyed  the 
sympathy  even  of  my  adversaries,  but  I  have  had 
few  friends.  No  sooner  has  there  been  any  sign  of 
warmth  in  my  feelings,  than  the  St.  Sulpice  dictum 
"  No  special  friendships,"  has  acted  as  a  refrigerator, 
and  stood  m  the  way  of  any  close  affinity.  My 
craving  to  be  just  has  prevented  me  from  being 
obliging.  I  am  too  much  impressed  by  the  idea  that 
in  doing  one  person  a  service  you,  as  a  rule,  dis- 


FIRST  S7EPS  OUTSIDE   ST.   SULPICE,  3II 

oblige  another  person ;  that  to  further  the  chances 
of  one  competitor  is  very  often  equivalent  to  an  in- 
jury upon  another.  Thus  the  image  of  the  unknown 
person  whom  I  am  about  to  injure  brings  my  zeal 
to  a  sudden  check.  I  have  obliged  hardly  any  one ; 
I  have  never  learnt  how  people  succeed  in  obtaining 
tlie  management  of  a  tobacco  shop  for  those  in  whom 
they  are  interested.  This  has  caused  me  to  be 
devoid  of  influence  in  the  world,  but  from  a  literary 
point  of  view  it  has  been  a  good  thing  for  me.  Meri- 
mee  would  have  been  a  man  of  the  very  highest  mark 
if  he  had  not  had  so  many  friends.  But  his  friends 
took  complete  possession  of  him.  How  can  a  man 
write  private  letters  when  it  is  in  his  power  to  address 
himself  to  all  the  world.  The  person  to  whom  you 
write  reduces  your  talent ;  you  are  obliged  to  write 
down  to  his  level.  The  public  has  a  broader  intelli- 
gence than  any  one  person.  There  are  a  great  many 
fools,  it  is  truCj  among  the  "  all,''  but  the  "  all " 
comprises  as  well  th*e  few  thousand  clever  men  and 
women  for  whom  alone  the  world  may  be  said  to 
exist.     It  is  in  view  of  them  that  one  should  write. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST.  SULPICE. 

PART  V. 

I  NOW  bring  to  a  conclusion  these  Recollections 
by  asking  the  reader  to  forgive  the  irritating  fault 
into  which  writing  of  this  kind  leads  one  in  every 
sentence.  Vanity  is  so  deep  in  its  secret  calculations 
that  even  when  frankly  criticising  himself  the  writer 
is  liable  to  the  suspicion  of  not  being  quite  open  and 
above-board.  The  danger  in  such  a  case  is  that  he 
will,  with  unconscious  artfulness,  humbly  confess,  as 
he  can  do  without  much  merit,  to  trifling  and  external 
defects  so  as  indirectly  to  ascribe  to  himself  very  high 
qualities.  The  demon  of  vanity  is  assuredly,  a  very 
subtle  one,  and  I  ask  myself  whether  perchance  I  have 
fallen  a  victim  to  it.  If  men  of  taste  reproach  me 
with  having  shown  myself  to  be  a  true  representative 
of  the  age  while  pretending  not  to  be  so,  I  beg  them 
to  rest  well  assured  that  this  will  not  happen  to  me 
again. 

Claudite  jam  rivos,  pueri :  sat  prata  biberunt. 

»  I  have  too  much  work  before  me  to  amuse  myself 
312 


FIRST  STEPS   OUTSIDE   ST.  SULFICE.  313 

in  a  way  which  many  people  will  stigmatize  as 
frivolous.  My  mother's  family  at  Lannion,  from 
which  I  have  inherited  my  disposition,  has  supplied 
several  cases  of  longevity ;  but  certain  recurrent 
symptoms  lead  me  to  believe  that,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  I  shall  not  furnish  another.  I  shall  thank 
God  that  it  is  so,  if  I  am  thus  spared  years  of 
decadence  and  loss  of  power,  which  are  the  only 
things  I  dread.  At  all  events  the  remainder  of  my 
life  will  be  devoted  to  a  research  of  the  pure  objective 
truth.  Should  these  be  the  last  lines  in  which  I  am 
given  an  opportunity  of  addressing  myself  to  the 
public,  I  may  be  allowed  to  thank  them  for  the 
intelligent  and  sympathetic  way  in  which  they  have 
supported  me.  In  former  times  the  most  that  a  man 
who  went  out  of  the  beaten  track  could  expect  was 
that  he  would  be  tolerated.  My  age  and  country 
have  been  much  more  indulgent  for  me.  Despite 
his  many  defects  and  his  humble  origin,  the  son  of 
peasants  and  of  lowly  sailors,  trebly  ridiculous  as  a 
deserter  from  the  seminary,  an  unfrocked  clerk  and 
a  case-hardened  pedant,  was  from  the  first  well- 
received,  listened  to,  and  even  made  much  of,  simply 
because  he  spoke  with  sincerity.  I  have  had  some 
ardent  opponents,  but  I  have  never  had  a  personal 
enemy.  The  only  two  objects  of  my  ambition, 
admission  to  the  Institute  and  to  the  College  de 
14 


314  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOU  TEL 

France,  have  been  gratified.  France  has  allowed 
me  to  share  the  favors  which  she  reserves  for  all 
that  is  liberal :  Her  admirable  language,  her  glorious 
literary  tradition,  her  rules  of  tact,  and  the  audience 
which  she  can  command.  Foreigners,  too,  have  aided 
me  in  my  task  as  much  as  my  own  country,  and 
I  shall  carry  to  my  grave  a  feeling  of  affection  for 
Europe  as  well  as  for  France,  to  whom  I  would  at 
times  go  on  my  knees  and  entreat  not  to  divide  her 
own  household  by  fratricidal  jealousy,  nor  to  forget 
her  duty  and  her  common  task,  which  is  civilization. 
Nearly  all  the  men  with  whom  I  have  had  anything 
to  do  have  been  extremely  kind  to  me.  When  I  first 
left  the  seminary,  I  traversed,  as  I  have  said,  a  period 
of  solitude,  during  which  my  sole  support  consisted 
of  my  sister's  letters  and  my  conversations  with 
M.  Berthelot ;  but  I  soon  met  with  encouragement 
in  every  direction.  M.  Egger  became,  from  the 
beginning  of  1846,  my  friend  and  my  guide  in  the 
difficult  task  of  proving,  rather  late  in  the  day,  what 
I  could  do  in  the  way  of  classics.  Eugene  Burnouf, 
after  perusing  a  very  defective  essay  which  I  wrote 
for  the  Volney  Prize  in  1847,  chose  me  as  a  pupil. 
M.  and  Mme.  Adolphe  Garnier  were  extremely  kind 
to  me.  They  were  a  charming  couple,  and  Madame 
Garnier,  radiant  with  grace  and  devoid  of  affectation, 
first  inspired  me  with  admiration  for  a  kind  of  beauty 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST   SULPICE.  315 

from  which  theology  had  sequestered  me.  With 
M.  Victor  Le  Clerc  I  had  brought  before  my  eyes 
all  those  qualities  of  study  and  methodical  application 
which  distinguished  my  former  teachers.  I  had  learnt 
to  like  him  from  the  time  of  my  residence  at  St. 
Sulpice:  he  was  the  only  layman  whom  the  directors 
of  the  seminary  valued,  and  they  envied  him  his  re- 
markable ecclesiastical  erudition.  M.  Cousin,  though 
he  more  than  once  displayed  friendliness  for  me,  was 
too  closely  surrounded  by  disciples  for  me  to  try  and 
force  my  way  through  such  a  crowd,  which  was  some- 
what subservient  to  their  master's  utterances.  M. 
Augustin  Thierry,  upon  the  other  hand,  was,  in  the 
true  sense  of  the  word,  a  spiritual  father  for  me.  His 
advice  is  ever  in  my  thoughts,  and  I  have  him  to 
thank  for  having  kept  clear  in  my  style  of  writing 
from  certain  very  ungainly  defects  which  I  should 
not  have  discovered  for  myself.  It  was  through  him 
that  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  Scheif  er  family, 
whom  I  have  to  thank  for  a  companion  who  has 
always  assorted  herself  so  harmoniously  to  my  some- 
what contracted  conditions  of  life  that  I  am  at  times 
tempted,  when  I  reflect  upon  so  many  fortunate 
coincidences,  to  believe  in  predestination. 

According  to  my  philosophy,  which  regards  the 
world  in  its  entirety  as  full  of  a  divine  afflation, 
there  is  no  place  for  individual  will  in  the  government 


3l6  RECOLLECTIONS  OF  MY    YOUTH. 

of  the  universe.  Individual  Providence,  in  the  sense 
formerly  attached  to  it,  has  never  been  proved  by  any 
unmistakable  fact.  But  for  this,  I  should  assuredly 
be  thankful  to  yield  to  a  combination  of  circumstances 
in  which  a  mind,  less  subjugated  than  my  own  by 
general  reasoning,  would  detect  the  traces  of  the 
special  protection  of  benevolent  deities.  The  play  of 
chances  which  brings  up  a  ternion  or  a  quaternion  is 
nothing  compared  to  what  has  been  required  to 
prevent  the  combination  of  which  I  am  reaping  the 
fruits  from  being  disturbed.  If  my  origin  had  been 
less  lowly  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  I  should  not  have 
entered  or  persevered  upon  that  royal  road  of  the 
intellectual  life,  to  which  my  early  training  for  the 
priesthood  attached  me.  The  displacement  of  a 
single  atom  would  have  broken  the  chain  of  fortuitous 
facts  which,  in  the  remote  district  of  Brittany,  was 
preparing  me  for  a  privileged  life ;  which  brought 
me  from  Brittany  to  Paris ;  which,  when  I  was  in 
Paris,  took  me  to  the  establishment  of  all  others 
where  the  best  and  most  solid  education  was  to  be 
had  ;  which,  when  I  left  the  seminary,  saved  me  from 
two  or  three  mistakes  which  would  have  been  the 
ruin  of  me ;  which,  when  I  was  on  my  travels,  extri- 
cated me  from  certain  dangers  that,  according  to 
the  doctrine  of  chances,  would  have  been  fatal  to  me  ; 
which,   to   cite   one   special   instance,  brought    Dr. 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST  SULPICE,         31/ 

Suquet  over  from  America  te  rescue  me  from  the 
jaws  of  death  which  were  yawning  to  swallow  me  up. 
The  only  conclusion  I  would  fain  draw  from  all  this 
is  that  the  unconscious  effort  toward  what  is  good 
and  true  in  the  universe  has  its  throw  of  the  dice 
through  the  intermediary  of  each  one  of  us.  There 
is  no  combination  but  what  comes  up,  quaternions 
like  any  other.  We  may  disarrange  the  designs  of 
Providence  in  respect  to  ourselves  ;  but  we  have  next 
to  no  influence  upon  their  accomplishment.  Quid 
habes  quod  7ion  accepisti  ?  The  dogma  of  grace  is  the 
truest  of  all  the  Christian  dogmas. 

My  experience  of  life  has,  therefore,  been  very 
pleasant  ;  and  I  do  not  think  that  there  are  many 
human  beings  happier  than  I  am.  I  have  a  keen 
liking  for  the  universe.  There  may  have  been  mo- 
ments when  subjective  scepticism  has  gained  a  hold 
upon  me,  but  it  never  made  me  seriously  doubt  of 
the  reahty,  and  the  objections  which  it  has  evoked 
are  sequestered  by  me,  as  it  were,  within  an  inclosure 
of  forgetfulness  ;  I  never  give  them  any  thought,  my 
peace  of  mind  is  undisturbed.  Then,  again,  I  have 
found  a  fund  of  goodness  in  nature  and  in  society. 
Thanks  fo  the  remarkable  good  luck  which  has  at- 
tended me  all  my  life,  and  always  thrown  me  into 
communication  with  very  worthy  men,  I  have  never 
had    to    make    sudden    changes    in    my   attitudes. 


3l8  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH. 

Thanks,  also,  to  an  almost  unchangeable  good-tem- 
per, the  result  of  moral  healthiness,  which  is  itself 
the  result  of  a  well-balanced  mind,  and  of  tolerably 
good  bodily  health,  I  have  been  able  to  indulge  in  a 
quiet  philosophy,  which  finds  expression  either  in 
grateful  optimism  or  playful  irony.  I  have  never 
gone  through  much  suffering.  I  might  even  be 
tempted  to  think  that  nature  has  more  than  once 
thrown  down  cushions  to  break  the  fall  for  me. 
Upon  one  occasion,  when  my  sister  died,  nature 
literally  put  me  under  chloroform,  to  save  me  a  sight 
which  would  perhaps  have  created  a  severe  lesion  in 
my  feelings,  and  have  permanently  affected  the  se- 
renity of  my  thought. 

Thus,  I  have  to  thank  some  one  ;  I  do  not  exactly 
know  whom.  I  have  had  so  much  pleasure  out  of 
life  that  I  am  really  not  justified  in  claiming  a  com- 
pensation beyond  the  grave.  I  have  other  reasons 
for  being  irritated  at  death  :  he  is  leveling  to  a  de- 
i  gree  which  annoys  me ;  he  is  a  democrat,  who  at- 
^tacks  us  with  dynamite  ;  he  ought,  at  all  events,  to 
await  our  convenience  and  be  at  our  call.  I  receive 
many  times  in  the  course  of  the  year  an  anonymous 
letter,  containing  the  following  words,  always  in  the 
same  handwriting :  "  If  there  should  be  such  a  place 
as  hell,  after  all  ?  '*  No  doubt  the  pious  person  who 
writes  to  me  is  anxious  for  the  salvation  of  my  soul, 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE  ST  SULPICE.  319 

and  I  am  deeply  thankful  for  the  same.  But  hell  is 
a  hypothesis  very  far  from  being  in  conformity  with 
what  we  know  from  other  sources  of  the  divine 
mercy.  Moreover,  I  can  lay  my  hand  on  my  heart 
and  say  that  if  there  is  such  a  place  I  do  not  think 
that  I  have  done  anything  which  vv^ould  consign  me 
to  it.  A  short  stay  in  purgatory  would,  perhaps,  be 
just ;  I  would  take  the  chance  of  this,  as  there  would 
be  Paradise  afterward,  and  there  would  be  plenty  of 
charitable  persons  to  secure  indulgences,  by  which 
my  sojourn  would  be  shortened.  The  infinite  good- 
ness which  I  have  experienced  in  this  v/orld  inspires 
me  with  the  conviction  that  eternity  is  pervaded  by 
a  goodness  not  less  infinite,  in  which  I  repose  un- 
limited trust. 

All  that  I  have  now  to  ask  of  the  good  genius 
which  has  so  often  guided,  advised,  and  consoled  me 
is  a  calm  and  sudden  death  at  my  appointed  hour,  be 
it  near  or  distant.  The  Stoics  maintained  that  one 
might  have  led  a  happy  life  in  the  belly  of  the  bull 
of  Phalaris.  This  is  going  too  far.  Suffering  de- 
grades, humiliates,  and  leads  to  blasphemy.  The 
only  acceptable  death  is  the  noble  death,  which  is 
not  a  pathological  accident,  but  a  premeditated  and 
precious  end  before  the  Everlasting.  Death  upon 
the  battle-field  is  the  grandest  of  all  ;  but  there  are 
others  which  are  illustrious.    If  at  times  I  may  have 


320  RECOLLECTIONS   OF  MY    YOUTH, 

conceived  the  wish  to  be  a  senator,  it  is  because  I 
fancy  that  this  function  will,  within  some  not  distant 
interval,  afford  fine  opportunities  of  being  knocked 
on  the  head  or  shot — forms  of  death  which  are  very 
preferable  to  a  long  illness,  which  kills  you  by  inches 
and  demolishes  you  bit  by  bit.  God's  will  be  done ! 
I  have  little  chance  of  adding  much  to  my  store  of 
knowledge  ;  I  have  a  pretty  accurate  idea  of  the 
amount  of  truth  which  the  human  mind  can,  in  the 
present  stage  of  its  development,  discern.  I  should 
be  very  grieved  to  have  to  go  through  one  of  those 
periods  of  enfeeblement  during  which  the  man  once 
endowed  with  strength  and  virtue  is  but  the  shadow 
and  ruin  of  his  former  self ;  and  often,  to  the  delight 
of  the  ignorant,  sets  himself  to  demolish  the  life 
which  he  had  so  laboriously  constructed.  Such  an 
old  age  is  the  worst  gift  which  the  gods  can  give  to 
man.  If  such  a  fate  be  in  store  for  me,  I  hasten  to 
protest  beforehand  against  the  weaknesses  which  a 
softened  brain  might  lead  me  to  say  or  sign.  It  is 
the  Renan,  sane  in  body  and  in  mind,  as  I  am  now — 
not  the  Renan  half  destroyed  by  death  and  no  longer 
himself,  as  I  shall  be  if  my  decomposition  is  gradual 
— whom  I  wish,  to  be  believed  and  listened  to.  I  dis- 
avow the  blasphemies  to  which  in  my  last  hour  I 
might  give  way  against  the  Almighty.  The  existence 
which  was  given  me  without  my  having  asked  for  it 


FIRST  STEPS  OUTSIDE   ST.  SULPICE.         32 1 

has  been  a  beneficent  one  for  me.  Were  it  offered 
to  me,  I  would  gladly  accept  it  over  again.  The  age 
in  which  I  have  lived  will  not  probably  count  as  the 
greatest,  but  it  will  doubtless  be  regarded  as  the 
most  amusing.  Unless  my  closing  years  have  some 
very  cruel  trials  in  store,  I  shall  have,  in  bidding  fare- 
well to  life,  to  thank  the  cause  of  all  good  for  the 
delightful  excursion  through  reality  which  I  have 
been  enabled  to  make. 
14^ 


APPENDIX. 

This  volume  was  already  in  the  press,  when  Abbe  Cog- 

nat  published  in  the  Correspoitdant  (January  25th,  1883), 

the  letters  which  I  wrote  to  him  in  1845  and   1846,      As 

several  of  my  friends  told  me  that  they  had  found  them 

very  interesting,  I  reproduce  them  here  just  as  they  were 

published. 

*'  Treguier.  August  i^th,  1845. 
"  My  Dear  Friend, 

"  Few  events  of  importance  have  occurred,  but 
many  thoughts  and  feelings  have  crowded  in  upon  me 
since  the  day  we  parted.  I  am  all  the  more  glad  to  im- 
part them  to  you  because  there  is  no  one  else  to  whom  I 
can  confide  them.  I  am  not  alone,  it  is  true,  when  I  am 
with  my  mother  ;  but  there  are  many  things  that  my 
tender  regard  for  her  com.pels  me  to  keep  back,  and 
which,  for  the  matter  of  that,  she  would  not  understand. 

"  Nothing  has  occurred  to  advance  the  solution  of  the 
important  problem  of  which,  as  is  only  natural,  my  mind 
is  full.  I  have  learnt  nothing  more,  unless  it  be  the 
immensity  of  the  sacrifice  which  God  required  of  me.  A 
thousand  painful  details  which  I  had  never  thought  of 

323 


324  APPENDIX. 

have  cropped  up,  with  the  effect  of  complicating  the 
situation,  and  of  showing  me  that  the  course  dictated  me 
by  my  conscience  opened  up  a  future  of  endless  trouble. 
I  should  have  to  enter  into  long  and  painful  details  to 
make  you  understand  exactly  what  I  mean  ;  and  it  must 
suffice  if  I  tell  you  that  the  obstacles  of  which  we  have 
on  various  occasions  spoken  are  as  nothing  by  comparison 
with  those  which  have  suddenly  started  up  before  me. 
It  was  no  small  thing  to  brave  an  opinion  which  would, 
one  knew,  be  very  hard  upon  one,  and  to  live  on  for  long 
years  an  arduous  life  leading  to  one  knew  not  what  ;  but 
the  sacrifice  was  not  then  consummated.  God  enjoins  me 
to  pierce  with  my  own  hand  a  heart  upon  which  all  the 
affection  there  is  in  my  own  has  been  poured  out.  Filial 
love  had  absorbed  in  me  all  the  other  affections  of  which 
I  was  capable,  and  which  God  did  not  bring  into  play 
within  me.  Moreover,  there  existed  between  my  mother 
and  myself  many  ties  arising  from  a  thousand  impalpable 
details  which  can  be  better  felt  than  described.  This 
was  the  most  painful  part  of  the  sacrifice  which  God  re- 
quired of  me.  I  have  hitherto  only  spoken  to  her  about 
Germany,  and  that  is  enough  to  make  her  very  unhappy. 
I  tremble  to  think  of  what  will  happen  when  she  knows 
all.  Her  tender  caresses  go  to  my  very  heart,  as  do  her 
plans  for  my  future,  of  which  she  is  ever  talking  to  me, 
and  in  which  I  have  not  the  courage  to  disappoint  her. 
She  is  standing  close  to  me  as  I  write  this  to  you.  Did 
she  but  know  !     I  would  sacrifice  everything  to  her  except 


APPENDIX,  325 

my  dutyand  my  conscience.  Yes,  if  God  exacted  of  me, 
in  order  to  spare  her  this  pain,  that  I  should  extinguish 
my  thought  and  condemn  myself  to  a  plodding,  vulgar 
existence,  I  would  submit.  Many  a  time  I  have  en- 
deavored to  deceive  myself,  but  it  is  not  in  human  power 
to  believe  or  not  to  believe  at  will.  I  wish  that  I  could 
stifle  within  me  the  faculty  of  self-examination,  for  it  is 
this  which  has  caused  all  my  unhappiness.  Fortunate  are 
the  children  who  all  their  life  long  do  but  sleep  and 
dream  !  I  see  around  me  men  of  pure  and  simple  lives 
whom  Christianity  has  had  the  power  to  make  virtuous 
and  happy.  But  I  have  noticed  that  none  of  them  have 
the  critical  faculty  ;  for  which  let  them  bless  God  ! 

^'  I  cannot  tell  you  to  what  an  extent  I  am  spoilt  and 
made  much  of  here,  and  it  is  this  which  grieves  me  so. 
Did  they  but  know  what  is  passing  in  my  heart  !  I  am 
fearful  at  times  lest  my  conduct  may  be  hypocritical,  but 
I  have  satisfied  my  conscience  in  this  respect.  God 
forbid  that  I  should  be  a  cause  of  scandal  to  these  simple 
souls ! 

''  When  I  see  in  what  an  inextricable  net  God  has  in- 
volved me  while  I  was  asleep,  I  am  unable  to  resist  fatal- 
istic thoughts,  and  I  may  often  have  sinned  in  that  re- 
spect ;  yet  I  never  have  doubted  my  Father  which  is  in 
Heaven  or  His  goodness.  Upon  the  contrary,  I  have 
always  given  Him  thanks,  and  have  never  felt  myself 
nearer  to  Him  than  at  moments  like  those.  The  heart 
learns  only  by  suffering,  and  I  believe  with  Kant  that 


326  APPENDIX, 

God  is  only  to  be  known  through  the  heart.  Then 
too  I  was  a  Christian,  and  resolved  ever  to  remain  one. 
But  can  orthodoxy  be  critical  ?  Had  I  but  been  born  a 
German  Protestant,  for  then  I  should  have  been  in  my 
proper  place  !  Herder  ended  his  days  a  bishop,  and  he 
was  only  just  a  Christian ;  but  in  the  Catholic  religion 
you  must  be  orthodox.  Catholicism  is  a  bar  of  iron,  and 
will  not  admit  anything  like  reasoning. 

"  Forgive  me,  my  dear  friend,  the  wish  which  I  have 
just  expressed  and  which  does  not  even  come  from  that 
part  in  me  which  still  believes  without  knowing.  You 
must,  in  order  to  be  orthodox,  believe  that  I  am  reduced 
to  my  present  condition  by  my  own  fault ;  and  that  is 
very  hard.  Nevertheless,  I  am  quite  disposed  to  think 
that  it  is  to  a  great  extent  my  own  fault.  He  who  knows 
his  own  heart  will  always  answer,  "  Yes  "  when  he  is  told^ 
"  It  is  your  own  fault."  Nothing  of  all  that  has  happened 
to  me  is  easier  foi:  me  to  admit  than  that.  I  will  not  be 
as  obstinate  as  Job  with  regard  to  my  own  innocence. 
However  pure  of  offence  I  might  believe  myself  to  be,  I 
would  only  pray  God  to  have  pity  on  me.  The  perusal 
of  the  Book  of  Job  delights  me  ;  for  in  this  Book  is  to  be 
found  poetry  in  its  most  divine  form.  The  Book  of  Job 
renders  palpable  the  mysteries  which  one  feels  within 
one's  own  heart,  and  to  which  one  has  been  painfully  en- 
deavoring to  give  tangible  shape. 

"  None  the  less  do  I  resolutely  continue  to  follow  out 
my  thoughts.     Nothing  will  induce  me  to  abandon   this, 


APPENDIX.  327 

even  if  I  should  be  compelled  to  appear  to  sacrifice  it  to 
the  earning  of  my  daily  bread.  God  had,  in  order  to  sus- 
tain me  in  my  resolve,  reserved  for  this  critical  moment 
an  event  of  real  significance  from  the  intellectual  and 
moral  standpoint.  I  have  studied  Germany,  and  it  has 
seemed  to  me  that  I  have  been  entering  some  holy  place. 
All  that  I  have  lighted  upon  in  the  course  of  the  study  is 
pure,  elevating,  moral,  beautiful,  and  touching.  Oh  !  My 
Soul  !  Yes,  it  is  a  real  treasure,  and  the  continuation  of 
Jesus  Christ.  Their  moral  qualities  excite  my  liveliest 
admiration.  How  strong  and  gentle  they  are  !  I  believe 
that  it  is  in  this  direction  that  we  must  look  for  the  ad- 
vent of  Christ.  I  regard  this  apparition  of  a  new  spirit  as 
analogous  to  the  birth  of  Christianity,  except  as  to  the 
difference  of  form.  But  this  is  of  little  importance,  for  it 
is  certain  that  when  the  event  which  is  to  renovate  the 
world  shall  recur,  it  will  not  in  the  mode  of  its  accomplish- 
ment resemble  that  which  has  already  occurred.  I  am 
attentively  following  the  wave  of  enthusiasm  which  is  at 
this  moment  spreading  over  the  north.  M.  Cousin  has 
just  started  to  study  its  progress  for  himself,  I  am  refer- 
ring to  Ronge  and  Czerski,  whose  names  you  must  have  - 
heard  mentioned.  May  God  pardon  me  for  liking  them, 
even  if  they  should  not  be  pure  :  for  what  I  like  in 
them,  as  in  all  others  who  have  evoked  my  enthusiasm, 
is  a  certain  standard  of  attractiveness  and  morality 
which  I  have  assigned  them  ;  in  short,  I  admire  in  them 
my  ideal.     It  may  be  asked  whether  or  not  they  come  up 


328  APPENDIX. 

to  this  standard       That  to  my  mind  is  quite  a  secondary 
matter. 

"  Yes,  Germany  delights  me,  not  so  much  in  her  scien- 
tific as  in  her  moral  aspect.  The  morale  of  Kant  is  far 
superior  to  all  his  logic  and  intellectual  philosophy,  and 
our  French  writers  have  never  alluded  to  it.  This  is  only 
natural,  for  the  men  of  our  day  have  no  moral  sense. 
France  seems  to  me  every  day  more  devoid  of  any  part 
in  the  great  work  of  renovating  the  life  of  humanity.  A 
dry,  anti-critical,  barren,  and  petty  orthodoxy,  of  the  St. 
Sulpice  type  ;  a  hollow  and  superficial  imitation  full  of 
affectation  and  exaggeration,  like  Neo-Catholicism  ;  and 
an  arid  and  heartless  philosophy,  crabbed  and  disdainful, 
like  the  University,  make  up  the  sum  of  French  culture. 
Jesus  Christ  is  nowhere  to  be  found.  I  have  been  in- 
clined to  think  that  He  would  come  to  us  from  Germany; 
not  that  I  suppose  He  would  be  an  individual,  but  a 
spirit.  And  when  we  use  the  word  Jesus  Christ  we  mean, 
no  doubt,  a  certain  spirit  rather  than  an  individual,  and 
that  is  the  Gospel.  Not  that  I  believe  that  this  apparition 
is  likely  to  bring  about  either  an  upset  or  a  discovery  ; 
Jesus  Christ  neither  overturned  nor  discovered  anything. 
One  must  be  Christian,  but  it  is  impossible  to  be  orthodox. 
What  is  needed  is  a  pure  Christianity.  The  Archbishop 
will  be  inclined  to  believe  this  ;  he  is  capable  of  founding 
pure  Christianity  in  France.  I  apprehend  that  one  result 
of  the  tendency  among  the  French  clergy  to  study  and 
gain  instruction  will  be  to  rationalize  us  a  little.     In  the 


APPENDIX.  329 

first  place  they  will  get  tired  of  scholasticism,  and  when 
that  has  been  got  rid  of  there  will  be  a  change  in  the  form 
of  ideas,  and  it  will  be  seen  that  the  orthodox  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Bible  does  not  hold  water.  But  this  will  not 
be  effected  without  a  struggle,  for  your  orthodox  people 
are  very  tenacious  in  their  dogmatism,  and  they  will  apply 
to  themselves  a  certain  quantity  of  Athanasian  varnish 
which  will  close  their  eyes  and  ears.  Yes,  I  should  much 
like  to  be  there  !  And  I  am  about,  it  may  be,  to  cut 
off  my  arms,  for  the  priests  will  be  all  powerful  yet  awhile, 
and  it  may  well  be  that  there  will  be  nothing  to  be  done 
without  being  a  priest,  as  Ronge  and  Czerski  were.  I  have 
read  a  letter  to  Czerski  from  his  mother,  in  which  she  re- 
minds him  of  the  sacrifices  she  had  made  for  his  clerical 
education  and  entreats  him  to  remain  stanch  to  Cathol- 
icism. But  how  can  he  serve  it  more  sincerely  than  by 
devoting  himself  to  what  he  believes  to  be  the  truth  ? 

'^  Forgive  me,  my  dear  friend,  for  what  I  have  just  said 
to  you.  If  you  only  knew  the  state  of  my  head  and  my 
heart  !  Do  not  imagine  that  all  this  has  assumed  a  dog- 
matic consistency  within  me  ;  so  far  from  that,  I  am  the 
reverse  of  exclusive.  T  am  willing  to  admit  counter-evi- 
dence, at  all  events  for  the  time.  Is  it  not  possible  to 
conceive  a  state  of  things  during  which  the  individual  and 
humanity  are  perforce  exposed  to  instability  ?  You  may 
answer  that  this  is  an  untenable  position  for  them.  Yes, 
but  how  can  it  be  helped  ?  It  was  necessary  at  one  period 
that  people  should  be  skeptical  from  a  scientific  point  of 


330  APPENDIX. 

view  as  to  morality,  and  yet,  at  this  same  period,  men  of 
pure  minds  could  be  and  were  moral,  at  the  risk  cf  being 
inconsistent.  The  disciples  of  scholasticism  would  mock 
at  this,  and  triumphantly  point  to  it  as  a  blunder  in  logic. 
It  is  easy  to  prove  what  is  patent  to  every  one.  Their 
idea  is  a  moral  state  in  which  every  detail  has  its  set 
formula,  and  they  care  little  about  the  substance  as  long 
as  the  outward  form  is  perfect.  They  know  neither  man 
nor  humanity  as  they  really  exist. 

*'  Yes,  my  dear  friend,  I  still  believe  ;  I  pray  and  recite 
the  Lord's  prayer  with  ecstasy.  I  am  very  fond  of  being 
in  church,  where  the  pure  and  simple  piety  moves  me 
deeply  in  the  lucid  moments  when  I  inhale  the  odor  of 
God.  I  even  have  devotional  fits,  and  I  believe  that  they 
will  last,  for  piety  is  of  value  even  when  it  is  merely  psy- 
chological. It  has  a  moralizing  effect  upon  us,  and  raises 
us  above  wretched  utilitarian  preoccupations  ;  for  where 
ends  utilitarianism  there  begins  the  beautiful,  the  infinite, 
the  Almighty  God  ;  and  the  pure  air  wafted  thence  is  Hfe 
itself. 

"  I  am  taken  here  for  a  good  little  seminarist,  very  pious 
and  tractable.  This  is  not  my  fault,  but  it  grieves  me 
now  and  again,  for  I  am  so  afraid  of  appearing  not  to  be 
straightforward.  Yet  I  do  not  feign  anything,  God  knows; 
I  merely  do  not  say  all  I  feel.  Should  I  do  better  to 
enter  upon  these  wretched  controversies,  in  which  they 
would  have  the  advantage  of  being  the  champions  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  pure,  and  in  which  I  should  have  the 


APPENDIX.  331 

appearance  of  assimilating  myself  to  all  that  is  most  vile  ? 
for  anti-Christianity  has  in  this  country  so  low,  detestable 
and  revolting  an  aspect  that  I  am  repelled  from  it  if  only 
by  natural  modesty.  And  then  they  know  nothing  what- 
ever about  the  matter.  I  cannot  be  blamed  for  not  speak- 
ing to  them  in  German.  Moreover,  as  I  have  already  ex- 
plained to  you,  I  am  so  situated  intellectually  that  I  can 
appear  one  thing  to  this  person  and  another  to  that  one 
without  any  feigning  on  my  part,  and  without  either  of 
them  being  deceived,  thanks  to  having  for  a  time  shaken 
off  the  yoke  of  contradiction. 

^'  And  then  I  must  tell  you  that  at  times  I  have  been 
within  an  ace  of  a  complete  reaction,  and  have  wondered 
whether  it  would  not  be  more  agreeable  to  God  if  I  were 
to  cut  short  the  thread  of  my  self-examination  and  trace 
my  steps  back  two  or  three  years.  The  fact  is  that  I  do 
not  see  as  I  advance  further  any  chance  of  reaching 
Catholicism  ;  each  step  leads  me  further  away  from  it. 
However  this  may  be,  the  alternative  is  a  very  clear  one. 
I  can  only  return  to  Catholicism  by  the  amputation  of  one 
of  my  faculties,  by  definitely  stigmatizing  my  reason  and 
condemning  it  to  perpetual  silence.  Yes',  if  I  returned,  I 
should  cease  my  life  of  study  and  self-examination,  per- 
suaded that  it  could  only  bring  me  to  evil,  and  I  should 
lead  a  purely  mystic  life  in  the  Catholic  sense.  For  I 
trust  that  so  far  as  regards  a  mere  commonplace  life  God 
will  always  deliver  me  from  that.  Catholicism  meets  the 
requirements  of  all  my  faculties  excepting  my  critical  one, 


332  APPENDIX, 

and  as  I  have  no  reason  to  hope  that  matters  will  mend 
in  this  respeet  I  must  either  abandon  Catholicism  or  am- 
putate this  faculty.  This  operation  is  a  difficult  and  pain- 
ful one,  but  you  may  be  sure  that  if  my  moral  conscience 
did  not  stand  in  the  way,  that  if  God  came  to  me  this 
evening  and  told  me  that  it  would  be  pleasing  to  Him,  I 
should  do  it.  You  would  not  recognize  me  in  my  new 
character,  for  I  should  cease  to  study  or  to  indulge  in 
critical  thought,  and  should  become  a  thorough  mystic. 
You  may  also  be  sure  that  I  must  have  been  violently 
shaken  to  so  much  as  consider  the  possibility  of  such  a 
hypothesis,  which  forces  itself  upon  me  with  greater  terrors 
than  death  itself.  But  yet  I  should  not  despair  in  strik- 
ing, even  in  this  career,  a  vein  of  activity  which  would 
suffice  to  keep  me  going. 

"  And  what,  all  said  and  done,  will  be  my  decision  ?  It 
is  with  indescribable  dread  that  I  see  the  close  of  the 
vacation  drawing  near,  for  I  shall  then  have  to  express,  by 
very  decisive  action,  a  very  undecided  inward  state.  It  is 
this  complication  which  makes  my  position  peculiarly 
painful.  So  much  anxiety  unnerves  me,  and  then  I  feel 
so  plainly  that  I  do  not  understand  matters  of  this  kind, 
that  I  shall  be  certain  to  make  some  foolish  blunder,  and 
that  I  shall  become  a  laughing-stock.  I  was  not  born  a 
cunning  knave.  They  will  laugh  at  my  simple-mindedness, 
and  will  look  upon  me  as  a  fool.  If,  with  all  this,  I  was 
only  sure  of  what  I  was  doing  !  But  then,  again,  supposing 
that  by  contact  with  them  I   were  to  lose  my  purity  of 


APPENDIX.  333 

heart  and  my  conception  of  life  !  Supposing  they  were 
to  inoculate  me  with  their  positivism  !  And  even  if  I 
were  sure  of  myself,  could  I  be  sure  of  the  external  cir- 
cumstances which  have  so  fatal  an  action  upon  us  ?  And 
who,  knowing  himself,  can  be  sure  that  he  will  be  proof 
against  his  own  weakness  ?  Is  it  not  indeed  the  case  that 
God  has  done  me  but  a  poor  service  ?  It  seems  as  if 
He  had  employed  all  His  strategy  for  surrounding  me  in 
every  direction,  and  a  simple  young  fellow  like  myself 
might  have  been  ensnared  with  much  less  trouble.  But 
for  all  this  I  love  Him,  and  am  persuaded  that  He  has 
done  all  for  my  good,  much  as  facts  may  seem  to  contra- 
dict it.  We  must  take  an  optimist  view  for  individuals  as 
well  as  for  humanity,  despite  the  perpetual  evidence  of 
facts  telling  the  other  way.  This  is  what  constitutes  true 
courage  ;  I  am  the  only  person  who  can  injure  myself. 

"  I  often  think  of  you,  my  dear  friend  ;  you  should  be 
very  happy.  A  bright  and  assured  future  is  opening  before 
you ;  you  have  the  goal  in  view,  and  all  you  have  to  do  is 
to  march  steadily  onward  to  it.  You  enjoy  the  marked 
advantage  of  having  a  strictly  defined  dogma  to  go  by. 
You  will  retain  your  breadth  of  view  ;  and  I  trust  that  you 
may  never  discover  that  there  is  a  grievous  incompatibility 
between  the  wants  of  your  heart  and  of  your  mind.  In 
that  case  you  would  have  to  make  a  very  painful  choice. 
Whatever  conclusion  you  may  perforce  arrive  at  as  to  my 
present  condition  and  the  innocence  of  my  mind,  let  me 
at  all  events  retain  your  friendship.     Do  not  allow  my 


334  APPENDIX. 

errors,  or  even  my  faults,  to  destroy  it.  Besides,  as  I  have 
said,  I  count  upon  your  breadth  of  view,  and  I  will  not  do 
anything  to  demonstrate  that  it  is  not  orthodox,  for  I  am 
anxious  that  you  should  adhere  to  it  ;  and  at  the  same  time 
I  wish  you  to  be  orthodox.  You  are  almost  the  only 
person  to  whom  I  have  confided  my  inmost  thoughts  ;  in 
Heaven's  name  be  indulgent  and  continue  to  call  me  your 
brother  !     My  affection,  dear  friend,  will  never  fail  you." 

"  Paris,  November  12th,  1845. 
"  I  was  somewhat  surprised,  my  dear  friend,  not  to  get  a 
reply  from  you  before  the  close  of  the  vacation.  The  first 
inquiry,  therefore,  which  I  made  at  St.  Sulpice  was  for  you  ; 
first  in  order  to  learn  the  cause  of  your  silence,  and  espe- 
cially in  order  that  I  might  have  some  talk  with  you.  I 
need  not  tell  you  how  grieved  I  was  when  I  learnt  that  it 
was  owing  to  a  serious  illness  that  I  had  not  heard  from 
you.  It  is  true  that  the  further  details  which  were  given 
me  sufficed  to  allay  my  anxiety,  but  they  did  not  diminish 
the  regret  which  I  felt  at  finding  a  chance  of  a  conversa- 
tion with  you  indifinitely  postponed.  This  unexpected 
piece  of  news,  coinciding  with  so  strange  a  phase  in  my 
own  life,  inspired  me  with  many  reflections.  You  will 
hardly  believe,  perhaps,  that  I  envied  your  lot,  and  that  I 
longed  for  something  to  happen  which  would  defer  my 
embarking  upon  the  stormy  sea  of  busy  life  and  prolong 
the  repose  which  accompanies  home  life,  so  quiet  and  so 
free  of  care.  You  will  understand  this  when  I  have  ex- 
plained to  you  all  the  trials  which  I  have  had  to  undergo 


APPENDIX,  335 

and  which  are  still  in  store  for  me.  I  will  not  attempt  to 
explain  them  to  you  in  detail,  but  will  keep  them  over  until 
we  meet.  I  will  merely  relate  the  principal  facts,  and 
those  which  have  led  to  a  lasting  result. 

*'  My  firm  resolution  upon  coming  to  St.  Sulpice  was  to 
break  with  a  past  which  had  ceased  to  be  in  harmony  with 
my  present  dispositions,  and  to  be  quit  of  appearances 
which  could  only  mislead.  But  I  was  anxious  to  proceed 
very  deliberately,  especially  as  I  felt  that  a  reaction  within 
a  more  or  less  considerable  interval  was  by  no  means  im- 
probable. An  accidental  circumstance  had  the  effect  of 
bringing  the  crisis  to  a  head  quicker  than  I  had  intended. 
Upon  my  arrival  at  St.  Sulpice,  I  was  informed  that  I  was 
no  longer  to  be  attached  to  the  Seminary,  but  to  the 
Carmelite  establishment,  which  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
had  just  founded,  and  I  was  ordered  to  go  and  report  my- 
self to  him  the  same  day.  You  can  fancy  how  embarrassed 
I  felt.  My  embarrassment  was  still  further  increased  upon 
learning  that  the  Archbishop  had  just  arrived  at  the  Semi- 
nary, and  wished  to  speak  to  me.  To  accept  would  be 
immoral ;  it  was  impossible  for  me  to  give  the  real  reason 
for  my  refusal,  and  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  give  a  false 
one.  I  had  recourse  to  the  services  of  worthy  M.  Carbon, 
who  undertook  to  tell  my  story,  and  so  spared  me  this 
painful  interview.  I  thought  it  best  to  go  right  through 
with  the  matter  when  once  it  had  been  begun,  and  I  com- 
pleted in  one  day  what  I  had  intended  to  spread  over 
several  weeks,  so  that  on  the  evening  of  my  return  I  be- 


33^  APPENDIX. 

longed  neither  to   the    Seminary,  nor   to   the  Carmehte 
house. 

"  I  was  terrified  at  seeing  so  many  ties  destroyed  in  a  few. 
hours,  and  I  should  have  been  glad  to  arrest  this  fatal 
progress,  all  too  rapid  as  I  th'ought ;  but  I  was  perforce 
driven  forward,  and  there  were  no  means  of  holding  back. 
The  days  which  followed  were  the  darkest  of  my  life.  I 
was  isolated  from  the  whole  world,  without  a  friend,  an 
adviser  or  an  acquaintance,  without  any  one  to  appeal  to 
about  me,  and  this  after  having  just  left  my  mother,  my 
native  Brittany,  and  a  life  gilded  with  so  many  pure  and 
simple  affections.  Here  I  am  alone  in  the  world,  and  a 
stranger  to  it.  Good  bye  forever  to  my  mother,  my  little 
room,  my  books,  my  peaceful  studies,  and  my  walks  by 
my  mother's  side.  Good-bye  to  the  pure  and  tranquil 
ioys  which  seemed  to  bring  me  so  near  to  God ;  good-bye 
to  my  pleasant  past,  good-bye  to  those  faiths  which  so 
gently  cradled  me.  Farewell  for  me  to  pure  happiness. 
The  past  all  blotted  out,  and  as  yet  no  future.  And  then, 
I  ask  myself,  will  the  new  world  for  which  I  have  em- 
barked receive  me  ?  I  have  left  one  in  which  I  was  loved 
and  made  much  of.  And  my  mother,  to  think  of  whom 
was  formerly  sufficient  to  solace  me  in  my  troubles,  was 
now  the  cause  of  my  most  poignant  grief.  I  was,  as  it 
were,  stabbing  her  with  a  knife.  Oh,  God  !  was  it  then 
necessary  that  the  path  of  duty  should  be  so  stony  ?  I 
shall  be  derided  by  public  opinion,  and  with  all  that  the 
future  unfolded  itself  before  me  pale  and  colorless.     Am- 


APPENDIX,  337 

bition  was  powerless  to  remove  the  veil  of  sadness  and 
regrets  which  enfolded  my  heart.  I  cursed  the  fate  which 
had  enveloped  me  in  such  fatal  contradictions.  More- 
over, the  gross  and  pressing  requirements  of  material  ex- 
istence had  to  be  faced.  I  envied  the  fate  of  the  simple 
souls  who  are  born,  who  live  and  who  die  without  stir  or 
thought,  merely  following  the  current  as  it  takes  them, 
worshiping  a  God  whom  they  call  their  Father.  How  I 
detested  my  reason  for  having  bereft  me  of  my  dreams. 
I  passed  some  time  each  evening  in  the  church  of  St. 
Sulpice,  and  there  I  did  my  best  to  believe,  but  it  was  of 
no  use.  Yes,  these  days  will  indeed  count  in  my  lifetime, 
for  if  they  were  not  the  most  decisive,  they  were  assuredly 
the  most  painful.  It  was  a  hard  thing  to  re-commence 
life  from  the  beginning,  at  the  age  of  three  and  twenty. 
1  could  scarcely  realize  the  possibility  of  my  having  to 
fight  my  way  through  the  motley  crowd  of  turbulent  and 
ambitious  persons.  Timid  as  I  am,  I  was  ever  tempted  to 
select  a  plain  and  commonplace  career,  which  I  might  have 
ennobled  inwardly.  I  had  lost  the  desire  to  know,  to 
scrutinize  and  to  criticise  ;  it  seem.ed  to  me  as  if  it  was 
enough  to  love  and  to  feel  ;  but  yet  I  quite  felt  that  as 
soon  as  ever  the  heart  throbbed  more  slovv^ly,  the  head 
would  once  more  cry  out  for  food. 

*'  I  was  compelled,  however,  to  create  a  fresh  existence 

for  myself  in  this  world  so  little  adapted  for  me.     I  need 

not  trouble  you  with  an  account  of  these  complications, 

which  would  be  as  uninteresting  to  you  as  they  were  pain- 

15 


33^  APPENDIX. 

ful  to  myself.  You  may  picture  me  spending  whole  days 
in  going  from  one  person  to  another.  I  was  ashamed  of 
myself,  but  necessity  knows  no  law.  Man  does  not  live 
by  bread  alone  ;  but  he  cannot  live  without  bread.  But 
through  it  all  I  never  ceased  to  keep  my  eyes  fixed 
heavenwards. 

"  I  will  merely  tell  you  that  in  compliance  with  the  ad- 
vice of  M.  Carbon,  and  for  another  peremptory  reason  of 
which  I  will  speak  to  you  later  on,  I  thought  it  best  to  re- 
fuse several  rather  tempting  proposals,  and  to  accept  in 
the  preparatory  school  annexed  to  the  Stanislas  College,  a 
humble  post  which  in  several  respects  harmonized  very 
well  with  my  present  position.  This  situation  did  not  take  up 
more  than  an  hour  and  a  half  of  my  time  each  day,  and  I  had 
the  advantage  of  making  use  of  special  courses  of  mathe- 
matics, physics,  etc.,  to  say  nothing  of  preparatory  lectures 
for  the  M.A.  degree,  one  of  which  was  delivered  twice  a 
week,  by  M.  Lenormant.  I  was  agreeably  surprised  at 
finding  so  much  frank  and  cordial  geniality  among  these 
young  people  ;  and  I  can  safely  say  that  I  never  had  any- 
thing approaching  to  a  misunderstanding  while  there,  and 
that  I  left  the  school  with  sincere  regret.  But  the  most 
remarkable  incident  in  this  period  of  my  life  was  beyond 
all  doubt  my  relations  with  M.  Gratry,  the  director  of  the 
college.  I  shall  have  much  to  tell  you  about  him,  and  I 
am  delighted  at  having  made  his  acquaintance.  He  is  the 
very  miniature  of  M.  Bautain,  of  whom  he  is  the  pupil  and 
friend.     We  became  very  friendly  from  the  first,  and  from 


APPENDIX.  339 

that  time  forward  we  stood  upon  a  footing  toward  one 
another  which  has  never  had  its  Hke  before,  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned.  In  many  matters  our  ideas  harmonized  won- 
derfully ;  he,  like  myself,  is  governed  wholly  by  philoso- 
phy. He  is,  upon  the  whole,  a  man  of  remarkably 
speculative  mind  ;  but  upon  certain  points  there  was  a  hol- 
low ring  about  him.  How  came  it  then,  you  will  ask,  that  I 
was  obliged  to  throw  up  a  post  which,  taking  it  altogether, 
suited  me  fairly  well,  and  in  which  I  could  so  easily  pur- 
sue my  present  plans  ?  This,  I  must  tell  you,  is  one  of 
the  most  curious  incidents  in  my  life  ;  I  should  find  it 
almost  impossible  to  make  any  one  understand  it,  and  I 
do  not  believe  that  any  one  ever  has  thoroughly  under- 
stood it.  It  was  once  more  a  question  of  duty.  Yes,  the 
same  reason  which  compelled  me  to  leave  St.  Sulpice  and 
to  refuse  the  Carmelite  establishment  obliged  me  to  leave 
the  Stanislas  College.  M.  Dupanloup  and  M.  Manier  im- 
pelled me  onward ;  onward  I  went,  and  I  had  to  start 
afresh.  It  seems  as  if  I  were  fated  ever  to  encounter 
strange  adventures,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  that  I  had 
met  with  this  particular  one,  if  for  no  other  reason  for  the 
peculiar  positions  in  which  it  placed  me,  and  which  were 
the  means  of  my  making  a  considerable  addition  to 
my  store  of  knowledge. 

"  I  had  no  difficulty,  upon  leaving  the  Stanislas  College, 
in  taking  up  one  of  the  negotiations  which  I  had  broken 
off  when  I  joined  it,  and  in  carrying  out  my  original  plan 
of  hiring  a  student's  lodging  in  Paris.     This  is  my  present 


340  APPENDIX. 

position.  I  have  hired  a  room  in  a  sort  of  school  near 
the  Luxemburg,  and  in  exchange  for  a  few  lessons  in 
mathematics  and  literature  I  am,  as  the  saying  goes, 
*  about  quits.  *  I  did  not  expect  to  do  so  well.  I  have, 
moreover,  nearly  the  whole  of  the  day  to  myself,  and  I 
can  spend  as  much  time  as  I  please  at  the  Sorbonne,  and 
in  the  libraries.  These  are  my  real  homes,  and  it  is  in 
them  that  I  spend  my  happiest  hours.  This  mode  of  life 
would  be  very  pleasant  if  I  was  not  haunted  by  painful 
recollections,  apprehensions  only  too  well  founded,  and 
above  all  by  a  terrible  feeling  of  isolation.  Come  and  join 
me,  therefore,  my  dear  friend,  and  we  shall  pass  some  very 
pleasant  hours  together. 

*'  I  have  spoken  to  you  thus  far  of  the  facts  which  have 
contributed  to  detain  me  for  the  present  in  Paris,  and  I 
have  said  nothing  to  you  about  the  ulterior  plans  which  I 
have  in  my  head  ;  for  you  take  for  granted,  I  suppose, 
that  I  merely  look  upon  this  as  a  transitory  situation,  pend- 
ing the  completion  of  my  studies.  It  is  upon  the  more 
remote  future,  in  fact,  that  my  thoughts  are  concentrated, 
now  that  my  present  position  is  assured.  From  this  arises 
a  fresh  source  of  intellectual  worry,  by  which  I  am  at 
present  beset,  for  it  is  quite  painful  to  me  to  have  to  spe- 
cialize myself,  and  besides  there  is  no  specialty  which  fits 
exactly  into  the  divisions  of  my  mind.  But  nevertheless' 
it  must  be  done.  It  is  very  hard  to  be  fettered  in  one's 
intellectual  development  by  external  circumstances.  You 
can  imagine  what  I  suffer,  after  having  left  my  mind  so 


APPENDIX.  341 

absolutely  free  to  follow  its  line  of  development.  My  first 
step  was  to  see  what  could  be  done  with  regard  to  Orien- 
tal languages,  and  I  was  promised  some  lectures  with  M. 
Quatremere  and  M.  Julien,  professor  of  Chinese  at  the 
College  de  France.  The  result  went  to  prove  that  this 
was  not  my  outward  specialty.  (I  say  outward  because 
internally  I  shall  never  have  one,  unless  philosophy  be 
classed  as  one,  which  to  my  mind  .would  be  inaccurate. ) 
Then  I  thought  of  the  university,  and  here,  as  you  will 
understand,  fresh  difficulties  arose.  A  professorship  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  term  is  almost  intolerable  in  my  eyes, 
and  even  if  one  does  not  retain  it  all  one's  life  long  it  must 
be  held  for  a  considerable  period.  I  could  get  on  very 
well  with  philosophy  if  I  were  allowed  to  teach  it  in  my 
own  way,  but  I  should  not  be  able  to  do  that,  and  before 
reaching  that  stage  one  would  have  to  spend  years  at  what 
I  call  school  literature,  Latin  verses,  themes,  etc.  The 
perspective  seemed  so  dreadful  that  I  had  at  one  time  re- 
solved to  attach  myself  to  the  science  classes,  but  in  that 
case  I  should  have  been  compelled  to  specialize  myself 
more  than  in  any  other  branch,  for  in  scientific  literature 
the  principle  of  a  species  of  universality  is  admitted.  And 
besides,  that  would  divert  me  from  my  cherished  ideas. 
No  ;  I  will  draw  as  close  as  possible  to  the  centre  which 
is  philosophy,  theology,  science,  literature,  etc.,  which  is, 
as  I  believe,  God.  I  think  it  probable,  therefore,  that  I 
shall  fix  my  attention  upon  hterature,  in  order  that  I  may 
graduate   in  philosophy.     All   this,  as  you  may  fancy,  is 


342  APPENDIX, 

very  colorless  in  my  view,  and  the  bent  of  the  university 
spirit  is  the  reverse  of  sympathetic  to  me.  But  one  must 
be  something,  and  I  have  had  to  try  and  be  that  which' 
differs  the  least  from  my  ideal  type.  And  besides,  who 
can  tell  if  I  may  not  some  day  succeed  thereby  in  bringing 
my  ideas  to  light  ?  So  many  unexpected  things  happen 
which  upset  all  calculations.  One  must  be  prepared, 
therefore,  for  every  eventuality,  and  be  ready  to  unfurl 
one's  sail  at  the  first  capful  of  wind. 

*^  I  must  tell  you  also  of  an  intellectual  matter  which  has 
helped  to  sustain  and  comfort  me  in  these  trying  moments  : 
I  refer  to  my  relations  with  M.  Dupanloup.  I  began  by 
writing  him  a  letter  describing  my  inward  state  and  the 
steps  which  I  deemed  it  necessary  to  take  in  consequence. 
He  quite  appreciated  my  course,  and  we  afterwards  had  a 
conversation  of  an  hour  and  a  half,  in  the  course  of  which 
I  liid  bare,  for  the  first  time  to  one  of  my  fellow-men,  my 
inmost  ideas  and  my  doubts  with  regard  to  the  Catholic 
faith.  I  confess  that  I  never  met  one  more  gifted ;  for 
he  was  possessed  of  true  philosophy  and  of  a  really  superior 
intelligence.  It  was  only  then  that  I  learnt  thoroughly  to 
know  him.  We  did  not  go  thoroughly  into  the  question. 
I  merely  explained  the  nature  of  my  doubts,  and  he  in- 
formed me  of  the  judgment  which  from  the  orthodox  point 
of  view  he  would  feel  it  his  duty  to  pass  upon  them.  He 
was  very  severe  and  plainly  told  me,*  ^that  it  was  not  a 

*  M.  Cognat  merely  analyzes  the  rest  as  follows  : — "  M.  Renan  then 
enters  into  some  details  with  regard  to  preparing  for  his  examination 


APPENDIX.  343 

question  of  temptations  against  the  faith  * — a  term  which  I 
had  employed  in  my  letter  by  force  of  the  habit  I  had  ac- 
quired of  following  the  terminology  adopted  at  St.  Sulpice 
— but  of  a  complete  loss  of  faith  :  secondly,  that  I  was  be- 
yond the  pale  of  the  Church  ;  thirdly,  that  in  consequence 
I  could  not  partake  of  any  sacrament,  and  that  he  advised 
me  not  to  take  part  in  any  outward  religious  ceremony  ; 
fourthly,  that  I  could  not  without  being  guilty  of  decep- 
tion, continue  another  day  to  pass  as  an  ecclesiastic,  and 
so  forth.  In  all  that  did  not  relate  to  the  appreciation  of 
my  condition,  he  was  as  kind  as  any  one  possibly  could 
be.  The  priests  of  St.  Sulpice  and  M.  Gratry  were  not 
nearly  so  emphatic  in  their  views,  and  held  that  I  must  still 
regard  myself  as  tempted.  ...  I  obeyed  M.  Dupanloup, 
and  I  shall  always  do  so  henceforth.  Still,  I  continue  to 
confess,  and  as  I  have  no  longer  M.  B — ■ —  I  confess  to  M. 
Le  Hir,  to  whom  I  am  devotedly  attached.  I  find  that 
this  improves  and  consoles  me  very  much.     I  shall  confess 

for  admission  into  the  Normal  School,  and  for  a  literary  degree. 
With  regard  to  his  bachelor's  degree,  the  examination  for  which  he 
has  not  yet  passed,  it  does  not  cause  him  much  concern.  He  had, 
however,  great  difficulty  in  passing,  and  only  did  so  by  producing  a 
certificate  of  home  study,  much  as  he  disliked  having  resort  to  this 
evasive  course.  He  did  not  feel  compelled  to  deprive  himself  of  the 
benefit  of  a  course  which  was  made  use  of  by  every  one  else,  and 
which  seemed  to  be  tolerated  by  the  law  of  monopoly  of  university 
teaching  in  order  to  temper  the  odious  nature  of  its  privileges.  '  But, 
he  goes  on  to  say,  '  I  bear  the  university  a  grudge  for  having  com- 
pelled me  to  tell  a  lie,  and  yet  the  director  of  the  Normal  School  was 
extolling  its  liberal-mindedness.  *  " 


344  APPENDIX. 

to  you  when  you  are  ordained  a  priest.  However,  out  of 
condescension,  as  he  said,  for  the  opinion  of  others,  M. 
Dupanloup  was  anxious  that  I  should,  before  leaving  the 
Stanislas  College,  go  through  a  course  of  private  prayer. 
At  first,  I  was  tempted  to  smile  at  this  proposal,  coming 
from  him.  But  when  he  suggested  that  I  should  do  this 
under  the  care  of  M.  de  Ravignan  I  took  a  different  view 
of  the  proposal.  I  should  have  accepted,  for  this  would 
have  enabled  me  to  bring  my  connection  with  Catholicism 
to  a  dignified  close.  Unfortunately,  M.  de  Ravignan  was 
not  expected  in  Paris  before  the  loth  of  November,  and 
in  the  meanwhile  M.  Dupanloup  had  ceased  to  be  superior 
of  the  petty  seminary  and  I  had  left  the  Stanislas  College  ; 
the  realization  of  this  proposal  seems  to  me  adjourned  for 
a  long  time  to  say  the  least  of  it. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  friend,  and  forgive  me  for  having 
spoken  only  of  myself.  For  your  own  as  for  your  friend's 
sake,  let  me  beg  of  you  to  take  care  of  yourself  during  the 
period  of  convalescence  and  not  to  compromise  your  health 
again  by  getting  to  work  too  soon,  I  will  not  ask  you  to 
answer  this  unless  you  feel  that  you  can  do  so  without 
fatigue.  The  true  answer  will  be  when  we  can  grasp 
hands.     Till  then,  believe  in  my  sincere  friendship. 

"  Paris,  September  ^th,  1846. 

"  I  thank  you,  my  dear  friend,  for  your  kind  letter.  It 
afforded  me  great  pleasure  and  comfort  during  this  dreary 
vacation  which  I  am  spending  in  the  most  painful  isolation 


APPENDIX,  345 

you  can  possibly  conceive.  There  is  not  a  human  being 
to  whom  I  can  open  my  heart,  nor,  what  is  still  worse, 
wdth  whom  I  can  indulge  in  conversations  which,  however 
commonplace,  repose  the  mind  and  satisfy  one*s  craving 
for  company.  One  can  be  much  more  secluded  in  Paris 
than  in  the  midst  of  the  desert,  as  I  am  now  realizing  for 
myself.  Society  does  not  consist  in  seeing  one's  fellow- 
men,  but  in  holding  with  them  some  of  those  communica- 
tions which  remind  one  that  one  is  not  alone  in  the  world. 
At  times,  when  I  happen  to  be  mixed  up  in  the  crowds 
which  fill  our  streets,  I  fancy  that  I  am  surrounded  by 
trees  walking.  The  effect  is  precisely  the  same.  AVhen  I 
think  of  the  perfect  happiness  which  used  to  be  my  lot  at 
this  season  of  the  year,  a  great  sadness  comes  over  me, 
especially  when  I  remember  that  I  have  said  an  everlast- 
ing farewell  to  those  blissful  days.  I  don't  know  whether 
you  are  like  me,  but  there  is  nothing  more  painful  to  me 
than  to  have  to  say,  even  in  respect  to  the  most  trifling 
matter,  "  It  is  all  over,  for  once  and  all."  What  must  I 
suffer,  then,  when  I  have  to  say  this  of  the  only  pleasures 
w^hich  in  my  heart  I  cared  for  ?  But  what  can  be  done  ? 
I  do  not  repent  anything,  and  the  suffering  induced  in 
the  cause  of  duty  brings  with  it  a  joy  far  greater  than  those 
which  may  have  been  sacrificed  to  it.  I  thank  God  for 
having  given  me  in  you  one  who  understands  me  so  well 
that  I  have  no  need  even  to  lay  bare  the  state  of  my  heart 
to  him.  Yes,  it  is  one  of  my  chief  sorrows  to  think  that 
the  persons  whose  approbation  would  be  the  most  pre- 
15* 


34^  APPENDIX, 

cious  to  me  must  blame  me  and  condemn  me.  Fortunately 
that  will  not  prevent  them  from  pitying  and  loving  me. 

*'  I  am  not  one  of  those  who  are  constantly  preaching 
tolerance  to  the  orthodox  ;  this  is  the  cause  of  numberless 
sophisms  for  the  superficial  minds  in  both  camps.  It  is 
unfair  upon  Catholicism  to  dress  it  up  according  to  our 
modern  ideas,  in  addition  to  which  this  can  only  be  done 
by  verbal  concessions  which  denote  bad  faith  or  frivolity. 
All  or  nothing,  the  Neo-Catholics  are  the  most  foolish  of 
any, 

''  No,  my  dear  friend,  do  not  scruple  to  tell  me  that  I  am 
in  this  state  through  my  own  fault  ;  I  feel  sure  that  you 
must  think  so.  It  is  of  course  painful  for  me  to  think  that 
perhaps  as  much  as  half  of  the  enlightened  portion  of 
humanity  would  tell  me  that  I  am  hateful  in  the  sight  of 
God,  and  to  use  the  old  Christian  phraseology,  which  is 
the  true  one,  that  if  death  overtook  me,  I  should  be  im- 
mediately damned.  This  is  terrible,  and  it  used  to  make 
me  tremble,  for  somehow  or  other  the  thought  of  death 
always  seems  to  me  very  close  at  hand.  But  I  have  got 
hardened  to  it,  and  I  can  only  wish  to  the  orthodox  a 
peace  of  mind  equal  to  that  which  I  enjoy.  I  may  safely 
say  that  since  I  accomplished  my  sacrifice,  amid  outward 
sorrows  greater  than  would  be  believed,  and  which,  from 
perhaps  a  false  feeling  of  delicacy,  I  have  concealed  from 
every  one,  I  have  tasted  a  peace  which  was  unknown  to 
me  during  periods  of  my  life  to  all  appearance  more 
serene.     You  must  not   accept,  my  dear  friend,  certain 


APPENDIX.  347 

generalities  in  regard  to  happiness  which  are  very  errone- 
ous, and  all  of  which  assume  that  one  cannot  be  happy 
except  by  consistency,  and  with  a  perfectly  harmonized 
intellectual  system.  At  this  rate,  no  one  would  be  happy, 
or  only  those  whose  limited  intelligence  could  not  rise  to 
the  conception  of  problems  or  of  doubt.  It  is  fortunately 
not  so  ;  and  we  owe  our  happiness  to  a  piece  of  incon- 
.sistency,  and  to  a  certain  turn  of  the  wheel  which  causes 
us  to  take  patiently  what  with  another  turn  of  the  wheel 
would  be  absolute  torture.  I  imagine  that  you  must 
have  felt  this.  There  is  a  sort  of  inward  debate  going  on 
within  us,  with  regard  to  happiness,  and  by  it  we  are  in- 
evitably influenced  in  the  way  we  take  a  certain  thing  ; 
for  there  is  no  one  who  will  deny  that  he  contains  within 
himself  a  thousand  germs  which  might  render  him  abso- 
lutely wretched.  The  question  is  whether  he  will  allow 
them  free  course,  or  whether  he  will  abstract  himself  from 
them.  We  are  only  happy  on  the  sly,  my  dear  friend, 
but  what  is  to  be  done  ?  Happiness  is  not  so  sacred  a 
thing  that  it  should  only  be  accepted  when  derived  from 
perfect  reason. 

"  You  will  perhaps  think  it  strange  that,  not  believing  in 
Christianity,  I  can  feel  so  much  at  ease.  This  would  be 
singular  if  I  still  had  doubts,  but  if  I  must  tell  you  the 
whole  truth,  I  will  confess  that  I  have  almost  got  beyond 
the  doubting  stage.  Explain  to  me  how  you  manage  to 
believe.  My  dear  friend,  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  exclaim 
to  you,  *  Take  care.*      If  you  were  not  what  you  are,  I 


34^  APPENDIX, 

should  throw  myself  at  your  feet,  and  Implore  of  you  to 
declare  whether  you  felt  that  you  could  swear  that  you 
would  not  alter  your  views  at  any  period  of  your  exist- 
ence. .  .  .  Think  what  is  involved  in  swearing  as  to  one's 
future  thoughts  !    .    .    .    I  am  very  sorry  that  our  friend 

A is  definitely  bound  to  the  Church,  for  I  feel  sure 

that  if  he  has  not  already  doubted  he  will  do  so.  We 
shall  see  in  another  twenty  years.  I  hardly  know  what  I 
am  saying  to  you,  but  I  cannot  help  wishing  with  St.  Paul, 
that  ^  all  were  such  as  I  am,'  thankful  that  I  have  no 
need  to  add  '  except  these  bonds.'  With  respect  to  the 
bonds  which  held  me  before,  I  do  not  regret  them.  Phi- 
losophy bids  us  say,  Dominus  pars. 

"  When  I  was  going  up  to  the  altar  to  receive  the  ton- 
sure, I  was  already  terribly  exercised  by  doubt,  but  I  was 
forced  onward,  and  I  was  told  that  it  was  always  well  to 
obey.  I  went  forward  therefore,  but  God  is  my  witness, 
that  my  inmost  thought  and  the  vow  which  I  made  to  my- 
self, was  that  I  would  take  for  my  part  the  truth  which  is 
the  hidden  God,  that  I  would  devote  myself  to  its  research, 
renouncing  all  that  is  profane,  or  that  is  calculated  to 
make  us  deviate  from  the  holy  and  divine  goal  to  which 
nature  calls  us.  This  was  my  resolve,  and  an  inward 
voice  told  me  that  I  should  never  repent  me  of  my  prom- 
ise. And  I  do  not  repent  of  it,  my  dear  friend,  and  I  am 
ever  repeating  the  soothing  words  Doininus pars^  and  I  be- 
lieve that  I  am  not  less  agreeable  to  God  or  faithful  to 
my  promise,  than  he  who  does  not  scruple  to  denounce 


APPENDIX,  349 

them  with  a  vain  heart,  and  a  frivolous  mind.  They  will 
never  be  a  reproach  to  me  until,  prostituting  my  thought 
to  vulgar  objects,  I  devote  my  life  to  one  of  those  gross 
and  commonplace  aims  which  suffice  for  the  profane,  and 
until  I  prefer  gross  and  material  pleasures  to  the  sacred 
pursuit  of  the  beautiful  and  the  true.  Until  that  time  ar- 
rives, I  shall  recall  with  anything  but  regret  the  day  on 
which  I  pronounced  these  words. 

"  Man  can  never  be  sure  enough  of  his  thoughts  to  swear 
fidelity  to  such  and  such  a  system  which  for  the  time  he 
regards  as  true.  All  that  he  can  do  is  to  devote  himself 
to  the  service  of  truth,  whatever  it  may  be,  and  dispose 
his  heart  to  follow  it  wherever  he  believes  that  he  can  see 
it,  at  no  matter  how  great  a  sacrifice. 

"  I  write  you  these  lines  in  haste,  and  with  my  head  full 
of  the  by  no  means  agreeable  work  which  I  am  doing  for 
my  examination  ;  so  you  must  excuse  the  want  of  order  in 
my  ideas.  I  shall  expect  a  long  letter  from  you,  which 
will  have  on  me  the  effect  of  water  on  a  thirsty  land. 

"Paris,  September  iithy  1846. 

"  I  wish  that  I  could  comment  on  each  line  of  your  letter 
which  I  received  an  hour  ago,  and  communicate  the  many 
different  reflections  which  it  awakens  in  me.  But  I  am 
so  hard  at  work  that  this  is  impossible.  I  cannot  refrain, 
however,  from  committing  to  paper  the  principal  points 
upon  which  it  is  important  that  we  should  come  to  an  im- 
mediate understanding. 


3  so  APPENDIX. 

'*  It  grieved  me  very  much  to  read  that  there  was  hence- 
forth a  gulf  fixed  between  your  beliefs  and  mine.  It  is 
not  so  :  we  believe  the  same  things — you  in  one  form  and 
I  in  another.  The  orthodox  are  too  concrete — they  set  so 
much  store  by  facts  and  by  mere  trifles.  Remember  the 
definition  given  of  Christianity  by  the  Proconsul  {nifallor) 
spoken  of  in  the  Acts  of  the  Apostles,  ^  touching  one 
Jesus,  which  was  dead,  and  whom  Paul  declared  to  be 
alive. '  Be  upon  your  guard  against  reducing  the  question 
to  such  paltry  terms.  Now  I  ask  of  you,  can  the  belief  in 
any  special  fact,  or  rather  the  manner  of  appreciating  and 
criticising  this  fact,  affect  a  man's  moral  worth  ?  Jesus 
was  much  more  of  a  philosopher  in  this  respect  than  the 
Church. 

*'  You  will  say  that  it  is  God's  will  we  should  believe 
these  trifles,  inasmuch  as  He  had  revealed  them.  My 
answer  is,  Prove  that  this  is  so.  I  am  not  very  partial  to 
the  method  of  proving  one's  case  by  objections.  But  you 
have  not  a  proof  which  can  stand  the  test  of  psychological 
or  historical  criticism.  Jesus  alone  can  stand  it.  But  He 
is  as  much  with  me  as  with  you.  To  be  a  Platonist,  is  it 
necessary  that  one  should  adore  Plato  and  believe  in  all 
he  says  ? 

"  I  know  of  no  writers  more  foolish  than  all  your  modern 
apologists  ;  they  have  no  elevation  of  mind,  and  there  is 
not  an  atom  of  criticism  in  their  heads.  There  are  a  few 
who  have  more  perspicacity,  but  they  do  not  face  the 
question. 


APPENDIX.  351 

"  You  will  say  to  me,  as  I  have  heard  it  said  in  the  semi- 
nary (it  is  characteristic  of  the  seminary  that  this  should 
be  the  invariable  answer),  *  You  must  not  judge  the  in- 
trinsic value  of  evidence  by  the  defective  way  in  which  it 
is  offered.  To  say,  "We  have  not  got  vigorous  men  but 
we  might  have  them,"  does  not  touch  intrinsic  truth.'  My 
answer  to  this  is  :  i  st,  good  evidence,  especially  in  histor- 
ical critique,  is  always  good,  no  matter  in  what  form  it 
may  be  adduced  ;  2nd,  if  the  cause  was  really  a  good  one, 
we  should  have  better  advocates  to  class  among  the  or- 
thodox : 

"  I.  The  men  of  quick  intelligence,  not  without  a  certain 
'amount  of  finesse,  but  superficial.  These  can  hold  their 
own  better ;  but  orthodoxy  repudiates  their  system  of  de- 
fence, so  that  we  need  not  take  them  into  account. 

"  2.  Men  whose  minds  are  debased,  aged  drivelers.  They 
are  strictly  orthodox. 

"3.  Those  who  believe  only  through  the  heart,  like  chil- 
dren, without  going  into  all  this  network  of  apologetics. 
I  am  very  fond  of  them,  and  from  an  ideal  point  of  view 
I  admire  them  ;  but  as  we  are  dealing  with  a  question  of 
critique,  they  do  not  count.  From  the  moral  point  of 
view  I  should  be  one  with  them. 

"  There  are  others  who  cannot  be  defined,  who  are  un- 
believers unknown  to  themselves.  Incredulity  enters  into 
their  principles,  but  they  do  not  push  these  principles  to 
their  logical  consequences.  Others  believe  in  a  rhetorical 
way,  because  their  favorite  authors  have  held  this  opinion, 


352  APPENDIX. 

which  is  a  sort  of  classical  and  literary  religion.  They 
believe  in  Christianity  as  the  Sophists  of  the  decadence 
believed  in  paganism.  I  am  sorry  that  I  have  not  the 
time  to  complete  this  classification. 

"  You  mistrust  individual  reason  when  it  endeavors  to 
draw  up  a  system  of  life.  Very  good  :  give  me  a  better 
system,  arid  I  will  believe  in  it.  I  follow  up  mine  because 
I  have  not  got  a  better  one,  and  I  often  mutiny  against 
it. 

"  I  am  very  indifferent  with  regard  to  the  outward  posi- 
tion in  which  all  this  will  land  me  ;  I  shall  not  attempt  to 
give  myself  any  fixed  place.  If  I  happen  to  get  placed, 
well  and  good.  If  I  meet  with  any  who  share  my  views  we 
shall  make  common  cause  ;  if  not,  I  must  go  alone.  I 
am  very  egotistical ;  left  wholly  to  myself,  I  am  quite  in- 
different to  the  views  of  other  people.  I  hope  to  earn 
bread  and  cheese.  The  people  who  do  not  get  to  know 
me  well  class  me  as  one  of  those  with  whom  I  have  noth- 
hig  in  common  ;  so  much  the  worse,  they  will  all  be  in 
the  wrong. 

"  In  order  to  gain  influence  one  must  rally  to  a  flag  and 
be  dogmatic.  So  much  the  better  for  those  who  have  the 
heart  for  it.  I  prefer  to  keep  my  thoughts  to  myself  and 
to  avoid  saying  the  thing  which  is  not. 

"  If,  by  one  of  those  revulsions  which  have  already  oc- 
curred, this  way  of  putting  things  comes  into  favor,  so 
much  the  better.  People  will  rally  to  me,  but  I  must  de- 
cline to  mix  myself  up  with  all  this  riffraff.     I  might  have 


APPENDIX,  .  353 

added  another  category  to  the  classification  I  made  just 
now  :  that  of  the  people  who  look  upon  action  as  the 
most  important  thing  of  all,  and  treat  Christianity  as  a 
means  of  action.  They  are  men  of  commonplace  intel- 
ligence compared  to  the  thinker.  The  latter  is  the  Jupiter 
Olympius,  the  spiritual  man  who  is  the  judge  of  all  things 
and  who  is  judged  of  none.  That  the  simple  possess 
much  that  is  true  I  can  readily  believe,  but  the  shape  in 
which  they  possess  it  cannot  satisfy  him  whose  reason  is 
in  proper  proportion  with  his  other  faculties.  This  fac- 
ulty eliminates,  discusses,  and  refines,  and  it  is  impossible 
to  quench  it.  I  would  only  too  gladly  have  done  so  if  I 
could.  With  regard  to  the  cupio  omnes  fieri,  my  ideas  are 
as  follows.  I  do  not  apply  it  to  my  liberty.  One  should,  as 
far  as  possible,  so  place  oneself  as  to  be  ready  to  'bout  ship 
when  the  wind  of  faith  shifts.  And  it  will  shift  in  a  life- 
time !  How  often  must  depend  upon  the  length  of  that 
lifetime.  Any  kind  of  tie  renders  this  more  difficult.  One 
shows  more  respect  to  truth  by  maintaining  a  position 
which  enables  one  to  say  to  her,  *  Take  me  whither  thou 
wilt ;  I  am  ready  to  go. '  A  priest  cannot  very  well  say 
this.  He  must  be  endowed  with  something  more  than 
courage  to  draw  back.  If,  having  gone  so  far,  he  does  not 
become  celestial,  he  is  repulsive  ;  and  this  is  so  true  that 
I  cannot  instance  a  single  good  pattern  of  the  kind,  not 
even  M.  de  Lamennais.  He  must  therefore  march  ever 
onward,  and  bluntly  declare,  *  I  shall  always  see  things  in 
the  same  light  as  I  have  seen  them,  and  I  shall  never  see 


354  .  APPENDIX, 

them  In  a  different  light. '  Would  life  be  endurable  for 
an  hour  if  one  had  to  say  that  ? 

"  With  regard  to  the  matter  of  M.  A ,  and  putting  all 

personal  consideration  upon  one  side,  my  syllogism  is  as 
follows  :  One  must  never  swear  to  anything  of  which  one 
is  not  absolutely  sure.  Now  one  is  never  sure  of  not  modi- 
fying one's  beliefs  at  some  future  time,  however  certain 
one  may  be  of  the  present  and  of  the  past.  Therefore 
...   I,  too,  would  have  sworn  at  one  time,  and  yet  .   .  . 

What  you  say  of  the  antagonists  of  Christianity  is  very 
true.  I  have,  as  it  happens,  incidentally  made  some  rather 
curious  researches  upon  this  point,  which,  when  completed, 
might  form  a  somewhat  interesting  narrative  entitled  His- 
tory of  Incredulity  in  Christianity,  The  consequences 
would  appear  triumphant  to  the  orthodox,  and  especially 
the  first,  yiz.,  that  Christianity  has  rarely  been  attacked 
hitherto  except  in  the  name  of  immorality  and  of  the  ab- 
ject doctrines  of  materialism — by  blackguards,  in  so  many 
words.  This  is  a  fact,  and  I  am  prepared  to  prove  it. 
But  it  admits,  I  think,  of  an  explanation.  In  those  days 
people  were  bound  to  believe  in  religions.  It  was  the  law 
at  that  time,  and  those  who  did  not  believe  placed  them- 
selves outside  the  general  order.  It  is  time  that  another 
order  began.  I  believe,  too,  that  it  has  begun,  and  the  last 
generation  in  Germany  furnished  several  admirable  speci- 
mens of  it  :  Kant,  Herder,  Jacobi,  and  even  Goethe. 

"  Forgive  me  for  writing  to  you  in  this  strain.  But  I  do 
for  you  what  I  am  not  doing  for  those  who  are  dearest  to 


APPENDIX.  355 

me  in  the  world  ;  to  my  sister,  for  instance,  to  whom  I  yes- 
terday wrote  less  than  half  a  page,  so  overburdened  am  I 
with  work.  I  solace  myself  with  the  anticipation  of  the 
conversation  which  we  shall  have  after  my  examination, 
for  I  mean  to  take  a  holiday  then.  There  is,  however, 
much  that  I  should  like  to  write  to  you  about  what  you 
tell  me  of  yourself.  There,  too,  I  should  attempt  to  re- 
fute you,  and  with  more  show  of  being  entitled  to  do  so. 
Let  me  tell  you  that  there  are  certain  things  the  mere  con- 
ception of  which  entails  one's  being  called  upon  to  realize 
them. 

''  Good-bye,  my  very  dear  friend.  .  .  .  Believe  in  the 
sincerity  of  my  affection." 


THE  ENDo 


14  DAY  USE 

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